


when the dust settles

by deadpools (midnights)



Series: searching for what used to be mine [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Injury Recovery, Minor Injuries, Mutually Unrequited, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sharing Clothes, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:33:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/pseuds/deadpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bucky shows up a few months after saving steve's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the dust settles

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for the MCU fandom and I am so excited about it! For anyone who is subscribed to me for the other fandom, don't worry! I'll still be working on/posting fics. 
> 
> If you want to, follow me on my [marvel blog](http://rcgersromanoff.tumblr.com/), or on my [1D blog](http://harryindallas.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> This isn't beta'd because I was too lazy, so forgive me for any spelling mistakes/grammar errors.
> 
> Also this had a different title at first but then I decided that it didn't fit it correctly so I changed it. The new title is from a line in AOU.
> 
> Please note that I don't own anything in the Marvel Universe including any of the characters, places, or events mentioned.

Bucky shows up a few months after saving Steve’s life.

There’s dirt on his clothes and there’s a big rip in the neckline of a shirt that probably used to be white but is now a grimy and dirty brownish-gray. His hands are tucked into the pockets of skinny jeans that are beat up enough to be more gray than black. It must be raining, because his clothes and hair are wet. His hair is wild and tangled, falling an inch or so below his chin, and there’s a cut on his cheek, scarlet blood drying on his skin. The silver arm gleams at his side, the red Soviet star gone; all that’s left are scratch marks. He’s bruised and clearly hurting, but when he looks up at Steve, he’s got a small smile on his face.

Steve isn’t sure if the man standing in front of him is the Winter Soldier or actually Bucky, but either way, he’s not prepared. His shield is somewhere on one of the couches, and he’s only got on jeans, a grey t-shirt, a blue hoodie, and socks. There’s a button on the wall next to the door of his floor that’ll alert the security system, so Steve snakes his hand up the wall and presses it. Someone should arrive in seconds.

“Hey, Steve.” He says quietly.

“Bucky?” Steve blinks a few times. He hasn’t been sleeping well, maybe he’s starting to see things.

“I- uh. Yeah. It’s me.” Bucky mutters.

Steve narrows his eyes, peering into the corridor behind Bucky. “How did you get up here? Security’s pretty tight, I-”

“Well, you know, I.” Bucky cuts off, sighing. He could use a good shave. “Snuck in.”

“How did you-”

But then there’s the sound of a trigger being pulled, and Bucky’s eyes close slowly, and he falls into Steve’s arms. Steve can see the little dart poking out of his neck; it’s just a sedative. Hoisting Bucky over his shoulder (he’s bigger now that he’s been given the serum too, but nothing Steve can’t handle), Steve looks up and sees Natasha looking at him curiously.

“Don’t ask.” Steve shakes his head.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nat says shortly. “I was gonna ask if you know that he’s bleeding.”

Steve looks at Bucky over his shoulder. There’s a patch of red on Bucky’s t-shirt, wet and growing quickly, and Steve wonders how he didn't smell the metallic scent of blood before. Natasha starts down the corridor and towards the lab, where Bruce and Tony are working on something. He follows Nat down the hall, shivering as he feels Bucky’s blood seeping through his clothes.

As soon as they reach the lab, Bruce and Tony start clearing a table for Steve to lay Bucky down on. After setting Bucky down, Steve steps forward, and Natasha’s hand wraps around his forearm and pulls him back. She tugs him into the living room of the tower, and leaves him on one of the couches. Head in his hands, Steve squeezes his eyes shut.

Way back when, Steve only had Bucky back with the Howling Commandos for a few months until he lost him. And then he was back, not himself but alive nonetheless. After saving Steve’s life at the river, Bucky disappeared, and Steve hadn’t been able to let go of the fleeting hope that his Bucky was still out there, alive and safe and himself again. Now he’s back, and Steve isn’t sure he’ll be able to lose him all over again.

About a month ago, Steve had gone back to his and Bucky’s old apartment it Brooklyn. The building had been torn down, and a new one built up again, but he could almost imagine walking up those three flights of steps to find his best friend asleep on the couch. Seventy some years ago, Steve would’ve sat on the floor by Bucky’s feet and listened to the radio while he waited for him to wake up.

Knowing what HYDRA did to Bucky makes Steve want to set every remaining supporter aflame, but if it weren’t for them, he supposes, Bucky would be long dead. Still, the reports of Bucky’s services with HYDRA and the KGB were a bit alarming for him to read. If Steve thought his PTSD was bad, he can’t even imagine how bad Bucky’s must be.

Bucky still looks the same, is the thing. He looks the same as he did seventy years ago and he looks the same as he did when he was trying to kill Steve and everyone else from SHIELD. Aside from what the serum did and his prosthetic, Bucky is the same dumb kid from Brooklyn that Steve’s known for almost as long as he can remember. Every time he sees Bucky, Steve kinda wants to beat the sand out of some punching bags. Not because he’s mad at him, because he’s really not- Bucky was brainwashed- but because of everything the two of them have been through. It’s simply not fair.

Apparently Steve falls asleep, because when he regains consciousness, Tony is poking his face.

“Need something, Stark?” He mumbles, yawning.

Tony gives him a look. “Can’t chat, Cap. We’re bringing your boyfriend to the hospital, he’s bleeding pretty bad. Banner can’t even stitch ‘em up.”

“Dammit.” Steve curses, standing up. “SHIELD?”

Tony nods. “Can’t exactly bring Metal Man to a regular hospital.”

“But- they’ll do things to him. Experiments, tests, I just-” Steve breaks off. “I won’t let you bring him to them.”

“Then you’re letting him die.” Stark says grimly. “That what you want, Cap?”

Steve shakes his head. “Fine. But if they try to-”

“We’ll give them specific instructions on how they’re to treat him, okay? And if they want to do any little science projects, they’ll have to go through us. Okay?”

Steve sighs, resigning. “JARVIS, my shield please. ‘re we leaving now?”

“Mhm. Time to go, pal.” Stark pats Steve’s shoulder before he walks towards the elevator. “And- JARVIS?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” JARVIS responds.

Tony looks back at Steve. “We won’t be needing that shield.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you mean I won’t need my shield? What if-”

“In the car already with Romanoff. We’re headed to DC.” Tony explains as they step into the elevator.

“In a car?” Steve asks. “Way too slow, he’ll be gone within an hour.”

“Car? Did I say car? Sorry, Cap. Not car. We’re flying.” He explains.

Steve nods. That makes a lot more sense.

Once in the quinjet, Steve takes a seat across from Bucky and balances his head on his hands. Stark wasn’t lying- there’s his shield, red and silver and blue against the grey of the quinjet’s interior. Next to Bucky is Banner, who’s holding a bloodied clump of fabric to Bucky’s side. He gives Steve a look as he sits down, one that seems to say that he’s sorry. Steve gives him a halfhearted smile.

It doesn't take long to reach Washington DC, probably a little less than a half hour.

As soon as they arrive at SHIELD, they’re bombarded by agents and doctors and nurses, and Bucky’s being whisked away on a stretcher before Steve can say a word. He chases after them, follows the hoard of doctors to the infirmary, where Bucky is brought into an operating room. A nurse catches Steve before he can follow them into the OR, and says that only medical personnel are allowed in. She doesn’t take the Captain America card, telling him that not even superheroes get to override everything.

Steve is left standing in front of a glass window overlooking the OR, watching as they sew Bucky up and try to assess how much blood he’s lost. From the looks of everything, it seems like he’s lost a lot. The surgery might’ve taken minutes, or it could’ve taken hours, Steve honestly doesn’t know how long he stands there. When they’re done, Bucky is brought into an intensive care unit.

That same nurse tells Steve he’s allowed to see him now, so he follows her into the ICU. Bucky is laying on a hospital bed, his right arm hooked up to a few IV bags, one filled with some kind of clear liquid and the other filled with what looks to be blood. His shirt is missing, and Steve lets his eyes wander over the myriad of scars on his torso, over the sharp lines of his muscle and the rough line where scar tissue meets cold, hard metal. There are scars all over him, and Steve wonders which are from battle and which are from all the torture he’d endured over the last seventy years. He looks pale, paler than Steve’s ever seen him, his skin almost translucent and his lips almost blue.

There’s a few chairs by the window, so Steve grabs one of them and drags it towards Bucky’s bed. He flops into it, pulling his hood over his head and leaning back. Maybe he can catch a few hours of sleep. He could ask someone for a cot, because he knows that family members are sometimes permitted to sleep in the patient’s room, but he doesn’t want to be asleep when Bucky wakes up, and technically, he’s not a family member. He and Bucky are listed as next of kin in all of their registration papers though, because neither of them had anyone else when they enlisted.

Before he can drift off, Clint comes in. It’s still a little strange to see him in regular clothes. He gives Steve a sad smile, pulling up a chair next to him. Neither of them say anything for a while, they just sit there watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Well, that’s what Steve’s watching. He isn’t sure what Barton’s staring at.

“How’re you holding up?” Barton asks.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him almost die. But it hasn’t gotten any easier, if that’s what you mean.” Steve explains.

“I don’t think it’s ever easy watching someone you love come that close to dying.” Clint says quietly.

Steve doesn’t ask what he means by “someone you love”, because it’s not hard to see that he and Bucky are- were as close as brothers. Still, most people don’t get nervous and jittery and giddy around their brother. Even when they were kids, Steve was enamored with Bucky. It didn’t really change as they got older. It wasn’t fun, though, watching Bucky dance and laugh with dames who didn’t really know him at all. During the war, it was easy to ignore Bucky’s charming smiles and beautiful laugh, because both of them were always busy fighting, or coming up with plans of action, sometimes doing both at the same time.

Back then, it was like a cardinal sin to be attracted to someone of the same gender, so Steve kept his wandering mind (and eyes, sometimes) to himself. Still, on cold nights, when the two of them would huddle together for warmth, Steve would let his thoughts roam through all the possibilities of how good they could be together. But then Bucky would wake up, or roll away from Steve’s open arms, and he’d be left alone again.

“I lost him once. I’m not sure if I can lose him again.” Steve says, and thankfully his voice stays steady.

“Look at me, Steve.” Clint says sharply. Steve does. “We are not going to lose him. Absolutely not. Okay?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Cap, do you get it?” Clint presses.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Steve mutters.

“Good.” Clint nods, satisfied. “Now go get some food. Both of us will be here when you’re done.”

“But-”

“You have an extraordinary metabolism that requires at least twice the normal nutrients of the average human, and I don’t think you’ve had anything since the Chinese food last night.” Clint says. “Plus, it’s Saturday shawarma day.”

Steve can’t help a small smile from creeping its way onto his face. “And who am I to refuse shawarma?”

“And they’ve got Cherry Coke. Nobody can refuse it. Now go. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Steve stands, clapping Barton’s shoulder on his way out. The SHIELD cafeteria is on the opposite side of the building, but it’s a lot better than the tiny caf near the infirmary, so Steve heads towards the promise of schwarma and Cherry Coke (he and Bucky always used to buy each other Cherry Coke when they could spare the cash, and he’s not sure if he’s had any since before the war).

Natasha, Bruce, and Tony are all in the cafeteria, all of them eating their shawarma in silence. There’s an empty chair at the table with an untouched platter of shawarma and a bottle of Cherry Coke, which Nat points to when she sees Steve. He sits, glancing at everyone’s expressions as he opens his soda.

“Well,” Stark speaks up. “I’ve been sitting here for like five minutes and I am thoroughly depressed, is he in stable condition or what?”

“Oh. Yeah, he’s okay.” Steve nods. “Just waiting for him to wake up. Then we can take him back to New York, I guess.”

Nat shakes her head. “I think we should keep him here. Bring him to the Smithsonian, take him for walks on the Mall, go to the World War 2 memorial and show him the big shield. Little things until he’s stable.”

“Then we’re stuck here with SHIELD. I don’t think he should be around so much… stuff.” Steve takes another sip of his drink, but doesn’t touch his food. He isn’t hungry.

“Go to the apartment. I’m sure JARVIS can take care of you guys there. Tony?” Natasha turns to Stark.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Duh. JARVIS is very intelligent. You two’ll be fine.”

“We can stay with you, if you want.” Bruce speaks up.

“I’m not sure that all of you should stay. I think we’d make him nervous.” Steve says. “Maybe just one at a time.”

“I’ll do it first.” Nat says.

“Would you pansies like to explain how you ended up bring the Winter Soldier into the ICU?”

Steve turns around. Fury is here, glaring at them.

“Nice to see you too, Nicholas.” Tony mutters.

“Don’t start with the sarcasm, Stark. Start talking.” Nick pulls up a chair and sits down.

They explain the situation, how Bucky showed up at Stark Tower claiming he was the Bucky that Steve used to know, how Nat sedated him and they discovered he was injured, and how they flew to DC for emergency care. Throughout the story, Natasha doesn’t take her eyes off of Steve once. He appreciates that everyone’s worried about him, he really does, but maybe they should all focus their worries on Bucky instead of him. He isn’t the one being held together with stitches. Hell, the only thing holding him together right now is the lack of things to hit.

“And all he said was that he’s himself again?” Fury asks.

“Kind of.” Steve nods.

“Did he _kind of_ say it or is he _kind of_ himself, Rogers?” Nick snaps.

Steve glares at him. “I don’t _know_ , okay? I have to go.”

He stands up so quickly that his chair tips over, making a loud sound and earning him a lot of looks from people around them. Walking slowly, he takes the long way back to the ICU, carrying his Cherry Coke in his hand. He barely had any, but he’ll probably want more later, and. It’s got some sentimental value, okay?

Clint is asleep when Steve gets back to Bucky’s room, but he jolts awake when he sits down next to him. “Evening, Cap.” He says loudly.

Steve chuckles. “Your turn to go and get some snacks.”

Clint stands, rubbing at his eyes, and heads for the door. “See ya soon, Steve.”

A nurse comes in a while later to check Bucky’s vitals, effectively waking Steve from his nap. She tells him that Bucky is most definitely going to make a full recovery. She also says that there’s a good chance he won’t wake up until tomorrow, and that Steve will be a lot more comfortable in a cot. Steve declines her offer, saying he’s slept in a lot worse than a rickety hospital chair. She leaves, shutting the light off on her way out.

Steve wanders over to the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. It’s still raining, little pitter-patters of water that hit the window and splatter in different directions. He can see the red lights of the Washington Monument from here, the ones that alert planes and helicopters of its location. Somewhere out there is the World War 2 memorial, along with his own, neither of which Steve has had the heart to go and see. Everything about it is too depressing.

The Smithsonian exhibit is depressing as well, but he supposes it’ll be good for Bucky to see all of those old pictures. He got an email a few weeks ago that said the museum had a camera and some other things of Steve’s from the war and their apartment that aren’t on display, and that he’s free to pick it up at his convenience. Maybe some of the stuff they’ve got will help Bucky remember. Or they might just freak him out more, Steve really doesn’t know.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up for the first time.

Steve is sat with his back against the window, legs spread wide in front of him while he reads a book Nat brought him a few hours ago. At first, all that he hears is a deep, audible breath that he barely even registers. And then Bucky starts saying his name.

“Steve?” It’s quiet, a groan almost, but Steve hears it all the same.

The book falls to the floor as Steve stands, and he’s at Bucky’s side in a fraction of a second. He takes Bucky’s hand in his, fingers holding on to him like he’ll fall through the floor otherwise. Bucky’s face is pained, his eyebrows knit together and his nose wrinkled, but he’s looking at Steve with those blue-grey eyes like he’s the only person in the world.

“Hey, Buck. How ya feelin’?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky blinks a few times, his mouth sliding into a slight frown. “Like I got run over by a tank. Where am I?”

“Washington DC, SHIELD’s intensive care unit. You, uh, showed up at Stark Tower with a pretty bad gash in your side.” Steve explains. “I dunno how you knew where I was.”

“Me either.” Bucky mutters, catching sight of the blood on Steve’s hoodie. His mouth falls open. “Did I… I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His words are slow and sleepy.

Steve glances at his shoulder, where Bucky’s blood has long since dried. “No, you didn’t do anything to me. I had to pick you up and take you to the jet.”

“Oh. Good.” Bucky nods, like he’d expected Steve to say something much worse.

“Do you know what happened that hurt you so bad?” Steve asks.

Bucky frowns, thinking. “Running from HYDRA. The other guy looks a lot worse. Can't remember who he was, though.”

“Can you tell me what you do remember?” Steve asks.

“A lot of things…” Bucky mumbles, eyes squeezing shut. “I remember growing up with you. Putting cushions on the floor of the living room so we wouldn’t have to sleep in separate beds, making blanket and pillow forts, stealing flowers from people’s garden to give to your ma in the hospital. Uh… I remember enlisting in the army, I remember a flying car and you telling me I’d take all the stupid with me when I left for… wherever I was going. I remember you were smaller. And so was I. I remember most things about growing up with you.”

Steve nods. “Do you remember the war?”

"Most of it, yeah. Everything comes back in... flashes. I remember getting captured, though. They strapped me to a table and injected me with something. Hurt like hell.” Bucky’s face contorts in pain. “But you saved me. I remember being right next to you when we got back to the camp, I remember the smile on your face when you were officially promoted to Captain Steve Rogers.”

Steve smiles at the memory. “Anything else?”

“Falling. This terrible freefall that seems to stretch on forever. And then it was over, and I was being dragged through the snow to some-” Bucky breaks off. “I don’t-”

“It’s okay, we can stop there.” Steve gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze, and is relieved when he squeezes back. He stands. “Are you in pain? I should probably tell someone that you’re awake.”

“I’ve felt worse.” Bucky gives him a small smile.

“I’ll be right back, okay? No passing out on me here.” Steve heads for the door.

He tells the nurse sitting at the desk at the end of the hallway, whose nametag says Cassie. The two of them make their way back to Bucky’s room, where Bucky is looking out the window. She checks his vitals and tells him not to stay awake if he’s tired, no matter how long he wants to stay up and “chat with Mr. Rogers”. Neither of them can hold back their snickers at that, and the way Bucky smiles makes Steve’s chest ache.

Once the nurse sees that Bucky will be awake for a while, she shows him and Steve how to adjust the bed so he can sit up. She makes a lighthearted comment to Bucky about not accidentally crushing the remote for the bed with his metal arm before leaving, and the smile drops off of Bucky’s face. Steve waits for the door to close behind her before he looks at Bucky. Neither of them say anything for a while. While they sit in silence, Steve’s eyes wander to the Cherry Coke on the table.

“Brought you some Cherry Coca-Cola, if you want it.” He says quietly.

Bucky looks up, as if just noticing that Steve has been sitting next to him. “I haven’t had that stuff since before the war!”

“I know, I didn’t even know they still made it.” Steve confesses. “Want some?”

Bucky scoffs. “You say that like you don’t know me at all.”

“Well…” There’s a pregnant pause. “Do I?”

Another pause.

“Rogers, you’re the only person around who knows me anymore. Everyone else is dead.”

Steve avoids Bucky’s gaze. “So you’re…?”

“Me?” Bucky asks. “I don’t remember every little thing, and I’m sorry about that, I really am, but. As of right now, when I see James Buchanan Barnes on paper, I know that it’s me. Not a body I’m in. Does that make any sense?”

“Not really.” Steve looks up, giving his friend an earnest smile. “But I’m glad you’re here. Coke?”

Bucky smiles right back. “Gimme.”

“Table to your left.” Steve points to the bottle of soda.

“I’ll try not to squish it.” Bucky rolls his eyes as he reaches for the soda with his metal arm.

Steve watches as he opens the bottle and puts it to his lips, eyes closing as he takes a sip. He’s always found the simple things Bucky does to be fascinating. After draining most of the bottle, Bucky looks over at him, at the book that’s lying facedown on the floor.

“What’s the book?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, glancing at his forgotten book. “Some old thing that we used to read when I had scarlet fever.”

“I remember that summer. Spent most of June in the damn hospital.” Bucky says, smiling.

“I was very frail back then.” Steve laughs.

“And dumb.” Bucky nods. “Had to save your sorry ass from fights more times than I could count, I think. What would you have done when I was gone?”

“Gotten my ass beaten.” Steve deadpans, and both of them laugh loudly.

Bucky looks down at his own bare chest and raises an eyebrow. “Was it that hard to gimme a damn shirt? Spent too long frozen with just my bottom half covered to go through that shit again.”

“I’m sure I could pull a few strings, get you a few ‘I heart Captain America’ shirts if you feel so strongly about it.” Steve tries and fails to keep his eyes off of Bucky’s toned chest.

“Think I’d rather go shirtless, pal.”

“That hurts.”

“Life hurts.”

“You ain’t kidding, Buck.”

“How long am I stuck in here?” Bucky asks some time later.

“Til the docs say we can go home.” Steve shrugs.

Bucky pauses. “And where’s home? Brooklyn?”

“We can go to Brooklyn soon, but for now, home is an apartment right near the National Mall and a real good mac ‘n cheese place.” Steve explains.

“Will your friends be there?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Not if you don’t want them to be.”

“I don’t mind.” Bucky yawns. “I should probably sleep.”

Steve nods. “Helps the healing process.”

“Goodnight, Captain Rogers.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant Barnes.”

In the morning, Steve is woken by the shouts of a nurse. His eyes snap open, and he sees Bucky holding a male nurse’s arm at a very worrying angle. The IV needles have been ripped from his good arm, and there’s a murderous look on Bucky’s face. Steve jumps to his feet, holding back a groan as his back cracks from sleeping upright.

“Jesus Christ, Bucky, let him go!” Steve shouts.

Bucky looks over at Steve slowly. “Steve?” He asks, clearly confused. “What’s going on?”

“Let go of his arm and I’ll tell ya, okay?” Steve says slowly, carefully.

Bucky look over at the nurse, lets go of his arm carefully. The nurse falls to the ground and scoots away from Bucky’s bed. And then Natasha is there, busting the door open with her foot and looking around at them. Recognition flashes through Bucky’s eyes, and he tenses even more. He thinks Natasha’s going to hurt him.

“Nat,” Steve says quietly. “I think you look a little too threatening for the present situation.”

Natasha nods, relaxing her shoulders. “It’s the meds. Last night he was shot up with morphine and sedatives and all kinds of stuff, so his immediate reactions and reflexes that he was taught were pushed aside. He must’ve slept them off.”

“Steve.” Bucky says urgently. “What the hell is happening?”

Steve looks back at Bucky, who is sitting upright like he’s ready to jump up and fight as soon as Steve gives the word. “We’re in a hospital in Washington DC. You got hurt, so we took you here.”

“Was I injured on a mission?” Bucky asks, and he looks nothing like how he looked when he and Steve were talking last night. He looks agitated.

“I don’t know, Buck. You said you can’t remember.” Steve crosses the room to help the nurse up, and then ushers him out of the room. Nat leaves with him, tapping her ear to remind Steve of his comm. Steve nods.

“Oh.” Bucky says quietly.

“Are you hurting?” Steve asks, sitting on the end of the bed.

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

Natasha speaks up in his ear. “HYDRA training. He doesn’t know how to respond to questions like that.”

Steve’s chest aches at the thought. “Okay.” He thinks of a way to rephrase that. “Would you…. would you be prepared for another mission?”

“Of course.” Bucky nods right away without looking at him. “Objective?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was seeing if you were hurt.” Steve shakes his head.

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, either.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve asks.

Bucky pauses, thinking. “Steve Rogers. We’ve known each other since we were little.”

“Do you know who you are?”

“The Win-” Bucky cuts off, shaking his head. “James Buchanan Barnes, but… James sounds too righteous, and… Buchanan’s a mouthful. So I’m Bucky.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah. You’re Bucky.”

“A name usually isn’t the first thing someone who’s mind’s been tampered with remembers. He knows a lot more than he’s letting on. Or he doesn’t know that he knows it. Probably the latter.” Natasha says quickly.

“Okay, Buck.” Steve stands. “I’m gonna see if we can go home now, okay?”

“To Brooklyn?” Bucky asks quietly.

“No, not Brooklyn. But you’ll like it there.” Steve assures him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, so Steve steps outside. Natasha is still there, looking at her nails while she sits on the floor of the corridor. She stands when she sees Steve, falling into step with him en route to the reception desk at the end of the hall.

“Do you think it’ll be better for him in Brooklyn?” She asks.

Steve shakes his head. “It might bring on too many memories at once. And I think you’re right, we should go to the exhibit and I’ll tell him about Peggy and the Howling Commandos, and we can walk to the war memorial and both see it for the first time. Little things.” Nat nods. “Is that nurse okay?”

“Yeah, he said he’s seen worse. He told me that when Clint woke up from Loki’s weird mind games, he punched him so hard he broke his nose.” Natasha snorts.

“Pleasant.” Steve puts on a smile as he approaches the desk. “Good morning. I was wondering if James Barnes in room D201 was cleared to go home?”

The nurse looks through some papers on a clipboard and nods. “Yes, but he did give a nurse quite a scare not too long ago. Not entirely mentally stable, so be careful. Hm…” She keeps reading. “Due to his extraordinarily fast healing, he won’t need a wheelchair or anything, and the stitches will dissolve after a few showers.”

“Got it.” Natasha smiles at her. “Thanks so much.”

The two of them make their way towards Bucky’s room. Steve frowns. “I’ll tell you what, they didn’t have _dissolving stitches_ back when we really needed ‘em.”

“You sound like an old man, shut up.” Nat groans, bumping Steve’s shoulder as they walk.

“Well, I am ninety six.” Steve says. “Oh, _gross_.”

“Come on, grandpa, let’s go get your friend.”

When they get into Bucky’s room, they find Bucky sitting on the edge of his bed, in only a pair of black boxer-briefs. He looks up when they come in, dark hair falling into his face. “Please tell me you brought pants.”

“Actually we did.” Natasha speaks up. She pulls the Yankees bag from her shoulder and tosses it to Bucky, who catches it easily in his metal hand. “Went back to the tower and grabbed some stuff last night. It’s from your drawers, Steve, sorry.”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

He watches as Bucky searches through the bag, choosing a pair of Steve’s grey joggers and a black t-shirt. Before everything that’s happened, Bucky would’ve given Steve shit about watching him get dressed, and Steve would’ve blushed and stammered out a response. Now, Bucky says nothing as he pulls on the pants and shirt and, eventually pulling on Steve’s black Vans. Everything fits fine, which is strange, because after Steve got the serum, everything of his was too big on Bucky. Now they’ve both got the serum, and they’re the same size.

When Bucky’s done trying his shoes, he stands, blowing his hair out of his face. “Is spider girl coming?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Nah. Just you two for a while. And you can call me Natasha, if you want.”

“C’mon, Buck.” Steve’s still holding back a laugh. _Spider girl_. “We’re goin’ home.”

The three of them head into the corridor, and Steve notices that Bucky’s a little unsteady on his feet. He hands Nat the Yankees bag and slips his arm around Bucky’s waist to steady him. When Bucky doesn’t resist, they start walking again. Once they get in the elevator, Bucky’s prosthetic goes to rest on Steve’s shoulders so he can support himself better. The metal is cold and hard against his neck, but Steve doesn’t mind.

They take one of Tony’s cars to the apartment, which is a small safehouse with enough rooms for all of them and a personal touch for everyone. Well, it’s more of a house than an apartment, but it’s connected to the houses on the block, so they call it an apartment. Bucky can sleep in his room, and he can stay on the couch in front of the TV. He’d feel too guilty sleeping in someone else’s bed (maybe not Tony’s, though). Plus, it might be good for him to sleep on something that doesn’t feel like a marshmallow.

Not much is said on the car ride, just a few questions that go unanswered by Bucky and a few updates he receives from Natasha in his ear (including a very specific one from Stark, saying that if he crashes that car there’ll be hell to pay). Bucky stares straight ahead for the whole ride, only looking over at Steve when he pulls into a parking spot in front of the safehouse. Steve stares back, giving Bucky a small smile.

“Here we are. Home sweet home.” Steve says, grabbing the Yankees bag on his way out of the car.

“ _Home_ is a tiny, _tiny_ place in Brooklyn.” Bucky says, looking at the house in awe. “Not a big-ass house in Washington DC.”

Steve grins, patting Bucky’s metal shoulder as he starts towards the stairs. The keys to the house are in his hand, Natasha gave them to him when they got in the car. The setup of the houses reminds Steve of those little streets in New York City, with the wide staircases and colorful shutters. He waits for Bucky to catch up before he opens the door, and lets him go inside first.

His shield is leaned up against the wall, and music is coming from the record player (Tony set it up so that JARVIS can control most aspects of the house, so the music must’ve been his idea), an old song that Steve remembers being popular when the war started. Bucky doesn’t recognize it, but he cocks his head and starts walking backwards, looking at Steve curiously. Steve smiles at him, motioning for him to have a look around and get familiar with the place.

“Your room’s the one with the flag on the door.” Steve says as he tosses the bag on the couch. “It wasn’t my idea, they thought it’d be funny.”

“It kinda is.” Bucky’s voice floats in from the bedroom. “But the tiny Captain America lights were your idea?”

Steve frowns, heading into his room. Bucky is inspecting the small, shield-shaped light in one of the power sockets. “Oh, a nightlight.” He laughs. “No, those weren’t my idea either.”

Bucky straightens up, looking around the room. “Reminds me of our old place.”

“You think so?” He looks around. Bucky’s right, the furniture is all in the same places as it was in Steve’s room in their old apartment. Of course, here, it’s a lot more high-end and expensive furniture, but still.

Bucky nods, wandering back into the living room. “Sounds like something we woulda danced to with some dames.” He looks at the record player.

“Something _you_ woulda danced to.” Steve corrects him. “I’ve never been much of a dancer. Or a hit with the ladies.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “Well, not when you were as skinny as a stick. After that, no one was safe.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs.

He looks over at Bucky, at his messy hair and messy stubble. He might be a bit grimy and tired-looking, but Bucky’s still got that small smile on his face and dimple in his chin and Steve wants to kiss him. Always wants to kiss him. He doesn’t though. Instead, he grabs a pair of boxer-briefs from his drawers and tosses them to Bucky.

“You could probably use a shower, Buck.” He says.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You sayin’ I stink, Rogers?”

“Yep. And you also have a crazy beard.” Steve smiles. “Shaving cream and razors are in the shower.” He heads for the living room.

“Copy that.”

Steve turns off the record player and settles on the couch, then turns on the TV and flips through the channels for a while. There isn’t anything good on, so he settles for a program about a plane crash on an island that Clint and Natasha always talk about. He toes off his shoes and spreads out on the couch, listening more to the sounds of the shower running than what’s on the TV.

A few minutes later, Bucky emerges from the shower in a puff of steam, wearing the boxer-briefs that Steve gave him. He’s drying his hair with the towel, and Steve realizes with a start that he’ll probably need a brush. It’s actually impossible for Steve to keep his eyes off of Bucky’s bare chest. He’s so toned and fit, and the fact that he’s still wet from the shower doesn’t help either. The gash on his side looks remarkably better, but the stitches do make it look a little worrying. He’s freshly shaved, too, his face smooth and clean. There’s a bruise on his cheekbone that Steve makes a mental note to ask about.

“Honestly don’t know when the last time I got a shower was.” Bucky says, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he sits next to Steve on the couch. He starts combing through his hair with his fingers, flipping it out of his face when he’s done. “Christ, I need a haircut.”

“I kinda like it long.” Steve shrugs. “Looks all manly and rugged.”

“Was the metal arm not manly enough?” Bucky deadpans, and Steve laughs. “Always thought these things were weird.” He motions to the TV with his metal hand.

Steve laughs again. “Televisions?”

“Yeah. They’re just-” Bucky shrugs. “I just think they’re weird, you know?”

“Well, they’re everywhere, Buck, so get used to ‘em.” Steve says.

“I _know_ they are, there’s a bunch of them at that damn museum.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “A bunch of moving pictures of us laughing and talking. It’s just… weird.”

“What museum?” Steve looks over at Bucky.

“Smith-something.” Bucky shrugs with his real shoulder.

“You went to the Smithsonian exhibit on me?” Steve asks, surprised.

Bucky nods. “It helped me remember a lot of things. I wasn’t… I was in this awful period where I wasn’t the Winter Soldier, but I wasn’t Bucky, either. I kept seein' it advertised and figured I should go.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment. “And right now?”

“Told you this morning. Sergeant James Barnes, at your service.” He gives Steve a half-hearted salute. “Still a weird reflex to say I’m the Winter Soldier, that’s what happened this earlier.”

“I just figured… Nat told me she sometimes wakes up and has to really think about where she is, how she got there. How she’s not an assassin anymore.” Steve says.

“You ain’t wrong.” Bucky mutters. “Sometimes I’ll hear something and it’s like some damn switch goes off, and suddenly I’m reaching for a gun that’s supposed to be there but isn’t, getting ready for a fight that I know I’ll win but it never comes. It’s scary, sometimes.”

Steve looks over at him. “Sounds scary.” He agrees.

“Sometimes it just takes a word, sometimes a noise, and other times I’ll remember something bad and have to sit down for a while.” Bucky explains.

“Sounds like you got some pretty bad PTSD.” Steve says gravely. He and Sam have been talking a lot about Steve’s own case. Apparently purposely crashing your plane into ice and then waking up almost a century later is considered a traumatizing experience.

“What in God’s name does that mean?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“You gonna explain that in english?”

Steve laughs. “It comes from a particularly bad experience and brings lots of nightmares and… more bad experiences, I guess.”

Bucky sinks into the couch a little more, groaning. He doesn’t say anything else, but Steve can tell that he’s done talking. The TV is still on, adding white noise to the sound of the cars beeping outside. Must be a traffic jam. For as loud as DC gets (which isn’t loud at all), it’s nothing compared to New York City. The constant noise of people and beeping cars was a very consistent soundtrack while Steve was living there.

He likes DC, though. He likes the peacefulness and the architecture and the cherry blossom trees on every corner. He likes the sunrise over the Washington Monument, like watching it as he takes his runs around the reflecting pool. He can only hope that Bucky likes it as much as he does. If not, they can move back to the city. Even to Brooklyn, if that’s what Bucky wants. All Steve knows is that he’s not letting Bucky go again.

An hour or so later, Steve looks at the clock on the TV, and decides it’s probably a good time to make Bucky nap. The nurse said that even with his advanced healing, he’d need a lot of rest.

“Okay, Buck. Time to- oh.”

Steve goes to shake Bucky’s shoulder, but when he looks down at him, he realizes he’s already asleep. Smiling to himself, Steve looks at his peaceful face for a moment. He looks different while he sleeps, younger somehow. He looks like that kid who used to beat the hell out of the kids who would make fun of Steve when they were just barely teenagers. He looks like the kid who used to steal books from people's bags to read to Steve when he was in the hospital. He looks like the kid who’s saved Steve’s life more times than he could ever count.

Standing slowly so as not to disturb Bucky too much, Steve puts his arm around Bucky’s middle and hauls him over his shoulder. Bucky’s bare chest is warm against Steve’s T-shirt, his hair still wet from the shower. Though he tries not to jostle Bucky around too much, Steve ends up turning too fast and making Bucky’s hand- his real hand- whack into the wall on the way into his room.

The next thing happens so quickly it almost makes Steve dizzy ( _almost_ ).

All of a sudden, Bucky’s pulling himself out of Steve’s arms and landing in a defensive stance on the floor. He growls something in Russian, something that probably means something even uglier than it sounds. The metal hand curls into a fist, and Steve starts talking before he can get his nose shattered.

“Bucky, look, it’s me, Steve.” He says calmly. “You’re okay, and you’re safe and you aren’t on a mission. Look at me, Buck.”

Bucky looks up at him, and the cold glare fades from his eyes. Slowly, Bucky’s muscles relax, and his arms fall to his sides. When he realizes what’s just happened, he looks horrified, and he backs up until he hits the wall and slides down it, bringing his knees to his chest. The look on his face actually hurts Steve. He’s panting and visibly shaking, so Steve goes and grabs him another one of his hoodies.

“Here.” He says softly, sitting on the floor with Bucky. “Put this on, you’re shakin’ like a leaf, Buck.”

Bucky takes the hoodie from him with a shaking hand. He looks at Steve like he’s afraid of him.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Steve’s Brooklyn accent slips through. “C’mere, pal.”

He scoots closer to where Bucky is sitting on the floor, and sits down next to him. A few times, Sam has told him that the best way to calm someone down after a panic attack is to breathe with them. This isn’t a panic attack, though, and Steve isn’t sure exactly what to do except wait it out. The only sound in the house is Bucky’s uneven breathing.

“Talk more.” Bucky rasps.

“Whaddaya mean?” Steve asks quickly.

“Just- say something-” Bucky pants. “Tell me the story of how we met.”

Steve nods. He’ll always remember that day. “Okay, sure. I was seven and you were eight, and it was spring, and my dad had died during the winter, and I was kinda a mess. It was real rainy that day, one of those days where it seems like the sky’s gonna stay grey forever. I was sitting on an empty crate in an alley, and a couple older kids decided it’d be funny to kick the ball that they were playing with at me. I started yelling at them, and they started yelling at me, and one gave me a bloody nose, and then you showed up.” He chuckles.

Bucky’s still shaking, but his breathing’s not so heavy anymore.

“Everyone was kinda scared of you already, cause around Christmas you’d gotten into a fight with a fifth grader and ended up breakin’ the poor kid’s nose. That was only cause he’d teased your sister, but still. Anyway, Bucky Barnes shows up, tells those little assholes to beat it. Only they didn’t, so you had to beat one up to get ‘em to leave.” Steve continues. “And then you gave me a hankie, said it was your dad’s and it didn’t matter, and we walked to Bernie’s to get ice cream and he gave it to us for free cause he liked you. Spent the next twenty or so years as partners in crime.”

By the time Steve finishes, Bucky’s breathing has returned to normal. He leans into Steve’s side, hands shaking as Steve watches him wring them together. “Could you- tell me another one? I just- your voice is really-”

“When I was thirteen and you were fifteen- only cause it was before my birthday- I got scarlet fever. High fever, rash, hallucinations- you name the symptom and I, being frail and weak, had it. Ma had to put me in the hospital. Wasn’t usually as bad as I had it, but.” Steve shrugs. “Y’know. I’m me, so things had to go worse than normal. I was so weak I couldn’t even hold a damn book up, so you’d read to me. Every day, until the nurses would drag you out, and even then you’d sneak in through the window. When I’d start seein’ things, you’d hop into bed with me and sit with me ‘til they went away. Took me almost two months, but I pulled through.”

Bucky laughs, but there's no trace of a smile on his face. "I remember that. Fuckin’ terrible.”

“Pretty sure I wasn’t deaf in that one ear before that summer, honestly.” Steve taps his ear.

“You were all kinds of messed up.” Bucky mumbles, putting his head back against the wall. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Buck, don’t.” Steve shakes his head. When Bucky doesn’t say anything, he starts thinking about what Sam said about aftercare for panic attacks. “Want anything? Some water, maybe tea? I make a mean omelette.”

Bucky shrugs. A few seconds later, Steve realizes that Bucky’s brain was probably hardwired to put basic needs aside. Swallowing back the lump that forms in his throat, Steve resolves to call Sam the second Bucky goes to sleep. He looks down at his hands, plays with the little string bracelet that a little girl had given him a few weeks ago (they’d met on the street, and she’d been so excited to see Captain America that it kept a smile on Steve’s face all day). A metal hand reaches over and takes Steve’s wrist, and Bucky inspects the red, white, and blue bracelet with a smirk that looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

In Bucky’s eyes, Captain America has always been a little laughable. During the war, Steve couldn’t go a single day without getting some good-natured insults from Bucky or Dum Dum or another one of his buddies. It was never mean, really, and it never actually bothered Steve, but he’d pretend it was obnoxious and hurtful anyway, just to satisfy his friends.

“I’m gonna make an omelette, okay? It’ll be peppers and onions, just how we used to get ‘em from Freddie’s.” Steve starts to stand, but Bucky’s grip on his hand tightens.

Bucky looks up at him with pleading eyes, delicate lips in a frown that always seems to return. “Don’t leave me, stay.”

“I ain’t ever gonna leave you, Buck.”

Steve sits down closer to Bucky this time, close enough that their sides are pressed up against each other and their legs are touching. Closing his eyes, Steve rests his head on the wall behind him. Bucky’s hand is still holding his, hard and cold metal that could shatter his wrist in a second, but Steve isn’t even the tiniest bit worried. Bucky lets go of his hand.

“That’s gonna get you killed someday.”

“Then it’ll be for a good cause.”

“More like a lost cause.”

Steve elbows Bucky’s side. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Bucky says, and when Steve looks over at him, he’s completely serious. “I sound like you when your ma would yell at you for having such a sailor’s mouth.”

“I have _never_ had a _sailor mouth_!” Steve says indignantly.

“Steve, you mighta been small, but the amount of naughty words that came out of your mouth made up for it three times over.” Bucky deadpans.

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “You know what? Fuck you.”

Bucky laughs then, loud and genuine, and the smile on his face makes Steve feel warm all over. And then they’re both laughing, clutching at their stomachs and their sides until their muscles ache, leaning against each other and gasping for breath, getting quiet only to burst into giggles yet again. It’s a moment until they calm down, but as soon as they glance at each other they’re exploding into fits of laughter yet again. It feels good hear Bucky laugh, to see him so genuinely happy after all the shit he’s been put through.

Once they’ve actually calmed down, Steve puts a hand on his chest and lets out a long breath. He bites down on his lip before looking over at Bucky again, swallows back the laugh that comes forward. Bucky grins at him. “See? Sailor mouth. Dirty, filthy, sailor mouth. Your ma would be disappointed.”

Steve frowns, cocking his head as if deep in thought. “I think Ma would be more proud of me exceeding five feet, honestly. That way she wouldn’t have kept telling me to ‘ _prove myself_ ’ to everybody else.”

“Okay, first of all, you were totally over five feet tall. Second, even before you got all shot up into a soldier, I’ve been tellin’ you that you got nothin’ to prove to anybody. Back when you were little and skinny, you were still tougher than half of the guys in the army. Including me.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shakes his head. “Nobody in the world is as tough as you, Buck.”

“Shut up, Steve, you know that’s not true.”

“It is too! You were all fucked over by these HYDRA assholes so that you could become this being of no feeling or compassion, and yet here you are, in the Avengers’ Washington DC safehouse, sitting on the floor with Captain America, your _mission_ , and talking about my ma. If that doesn’t take a tremendous amount of strength and will, I don’t know what does.” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head, putting his face in his hands. “We’re done talking about this.” It isn’t a question, more of a command, so Steve complies.

“Wanna go for a walk? It’s real nice at sunset around here.” He asks, standing.

“Not if I’m not wearing pants.” Bucky looks down at his boxers.

Steve laughs. “I’ll get you shorts.”

“Thanks.” Bucky stands as well.

Treading into his room on bare feet, Steve grabs a pair of grey shorts from his drawers. He changes into a clean t-shirt, one that doesn’t have Bucky’s blood on it, and then grabs Bucky the same Vans he’d been wearing before. On the way out, he tosses them both to Bucky, and then goes off in search of his own shoes.

Once he pulls them on, he leans against the wall by the door and waits for Bucky. Bucky steps into the living room a moment later, dressed in Steve’s shorts and a white t-shirt. He gives Steve a slow, easy smile as he walks towards him, hands in his pockets. A long time ago, that was a smile he’d see on hazy July nights in their tiny place in Brooklyn, when they’d sit on the roof and have a few beers and talk about everything. They’d come home from work and shower up, and Steve would wait for Bucky to get out of the shower and they’d climb out the window of his room to the roof.

Steve grabs the keys from the coffee table and opens the door, giving a dramatic bow and motioning Bucky out. Laughing, Bucky heads outside, running a hand through his still-damp hair. Steve follows him and locks the door behind him. Maybe, if Bucky wasn’t held together with stitches and Steve had never seen his HYDRA record and everything was actually okay, maybe this would be their life; living in a nice place in a big city, going out for walks at sunset and not having to worry about things like SHIELD finding out he’s harboring an assassin and a couple of nasty cases of PTSD.

It’s warm outside, very fair for an early July night. Steve realizes with a start that his birthday is only four days away. He decides not to tell Bucky the date unless he asks, because he knows it’ll make Bucky feel awful if he doesn’t get him anything for his birthday. If he does figure it out, Steve decides that having his best pal back is a good enough present all by itself.

Neither of them say anything until they reach the Mall, which is only two or so blocks from the house. The sun is setting over the reflecting pool in a myriad of colors, making the water look orange and pink and all kinds of colors and Steve wants to paint every one on his walls. They remind him of Bucky: bright and burning, filled with passion and fierce emotion.

“You ever miss her?” Bucky asks as Steve hops up on the little ledge by the pool. “Your ma? And what about- what was her name, Peggy? You ever miss Peggy?”

“Well I can go and see Peggy whenever I want. Ma, though, she’s a different story. Mama’s at a tiny cemetery in Brooklyn Heights, remember? You carried the coffin.” Steve extends his arms, makes it look like he’s struggling to keep his balance even though he’s not at all.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. “Whaddaya mean you can go and see her?”

“Peggy’s still around, Buck.” Steve explains. “She’s old, and pretty sick, but she’s still kickin’.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Bucky says. “That broad’s always been tougher than the both of us.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Even now? With both us all shot up with the serum?”

“Course.” Bucky nods. “She could still kick our sorry asses easy.”

“What happened to all your faith in Captain America, Buck?” Steve laughs.

“Kinda faded after he got so tall.” Bucky shrugs. “I liked the little guy.”

“Yeah, well, Cap didn’t like the little guy, and neither did the army.” Steve snaps.

Bucky snorts. “Seems like nobody thought he was good enough but me.”

Steve stops walking, looks Bucky straight in the eye. Bucky looks right back, staring him down. Those dark circles are still under his eyes, and it’s probably going to take more than a good night’s sleep to get rid of them. It takes a lot of will for Steve not to look down at his lips, which would probably be in a smirk if Bucky was his regular self.

“How come we always end up talking about the heavy stuff? I don’t wanna be so serious all the time, I already have to do that at work.” He says, and the two of them start walking again.

“Work?” Bucky asks.

“Mhm.” Steve nods. “Remember that group of people you were assigned to kill? The Avengers?”

“With the guy with the wings and the redhead?” Bucky cocks his head.

“Yeah, that’s them.” Steve nods. “I work with them.”

“Does that mean you’ll be gone tomorrow?” Bucky asks, frowning.

Steve shakes his head. “No, no, I had Natasha tell SHIELD I wouldn’t be in for a couple of days.”

“Oh. Good.” Bucky nods, rubbing his real arm with the metal one.

“You cold? Should we head back?” Steve asks quickly. “We should probably head back, you need to sleep. And eat.”

“I’m fine, I can keep going.” Bucky shakes his head, long hair flopping into his face.

Steve sighs. “We aren’t on a mission, Buck. You’re allowed to have needs.”

Way back when, when the two of them lived in that little apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky always used to tease Steve for being so needy. He always used to say that Steve couldn’t go two minutes without needing him, and, well. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Most of the time, Steve was recovering from a fight, or sick with some awful cold, and he needed Bucky’s help with a whole slew of things. More than once, Bucky had to help him reset a dislocated shoulder or a broken wrist after what Steve used to call “accidents”.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, so Steve grabs him by the wrist (the real one, not the cold, hard, metal one) and pulls him home.

\--

“C’mon, I’m making us an omelette.” Steve leads Bucky into the kitchen and directs him to one of the barstools at the island. “I’m starving, and I’m pretty sure you are too, even if you’re not gonna say it. You always used to be hungry.”

Bucky folds his arms on the countertop and rests his head on them, watching Steve curiously. “That’s cause we never had enough damn food. And since when can you cook? You used to burn water, Rogers.”

“I did not.” Steve grabs a frying pan from where it’s hanging on the wall and puts it on the stove. “And Clint taught me.”

“Clint?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Nice guy. You’ll meet ‘im soon.” Steve says, grabbing a few eggs from the fridge. “You want peppers in the omelette?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose, looking more adorable than grossed out. “I don’t like peppers, but if you want them-”

“Nah, I just wanted to see if you remembered.” Steve laughs.

“I remember a lot of things.” Bucky says. “Things I like to remember, and things I’d rather forget.”

“I hope there’s more good than bad.”

Bucky shrugs. “You’re in most of ‘em. So I guess they’re _somewhat_ good.”

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Steve laughs. “I get it, Barnes. I get it.”

Bucky laughs too, a loud laugh that makes Steve feel warm all over. He looks over at him, at his best friend sitting on a stool with his head on the counter. Seeing him here, in a little house with regular clothes, and a smile on his face and eyes that aren’t blank, it’s easy to forget that he’s also a ruthless assassin that tried to kill him a few months ago. But that wasn’t Bucky. That was the Winter Soldier, and that’s not who’s in the kitchen with Steve.

This is Bucky. Bucky, who read to Steve when he was sick, who beat up the kids who made fun of him, who stole flowers to bring to Steve’s ma when she was dying. This is the Bucky who used to steal sketchbooks from the art store around the corner for Steve to draw in, who wouldn’t eat peppers even if Steve offered to pay him. This is the Bucky that Steve’s known since before he can remember. The only difference is that now, they’re both a hell of a lot taller, Bucky’s got a metal arm, and he is not someone Steve wants to fight with, if he can help it.

“Your eggs need to be cracked, Cap.” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow at him.

Steve looks away quickly. “Oh. Right.” He cracks six eggs into the pan and lets them sizzle for a moment. “‘re you still cold? I’ll get you a hoodie.”

Striding into his bedroom, Steve grabs the hoodie that he’d given Bucky earlier and throws it over his shoulder. When he gets back into the kitchen, Bucky is still sitting where he was before, head resting on his folded arms and long hair falling into his face. Tossing the hoodie onto the island, Steve grabs the olive oil from the cabinet. He opens it up to pour some into the pan, and ends up slopping a quarter of the bottle onto his t-shirt.

“Aw, shit.”

“What?” Bucky asks, pulling the hoodie over his head.

Steve groans, putting the bottle of olive oil on the counter. He pulls his shirt off, tossing it into the sink. Running the water, Steve pours dish soap into the sink and washes the shirt as much as he can, then wrings it out and hurls it towards the laundry room. When he turns around, there’s a curious and sad look on Bucky’s face. He’s looking at Steve’s stomach.

“That’s from me, isn’t it?” He asks quietly.

Steve looks down, at the scar where Bucky put a bullet through his back. “It wasn’t as bad as it looks.” He shrugs. “I’ll go and get another shirt so you don’t have to look at it and feel guilty.”

“There’s a good chance I’ll feel guilty about it for the rest of my life, might as well start now.” Bucky gives Steve a sad smile that breaks his heart.

Heading back to his room, Steve grabs a new t-shirt and throws it on, and heads back into the kitchen to finish the omelette. He throws in some onions, just because he knows Bucky loves onions. When it’s finished, Steve splits it in half and hands a plate to Bucky, tossing him a fork from the drawer. Stupidly, Steve expects Bucky to be confused as to why he has a fork in his hand, but he’s been wandering around for almost four months, and he had to get food somewhere. He probably became a regular at some cheap diner and got most of his meals from a kindhearted waitress or something. Bucky was always good at that.

Both of them scarf down the omelette so fast it burns their mouths. “You should know I’m not too good on solid food yet.” Bucky says after a while.

“What d’you mean?” Steve asks.

“The only food I got was through a tube for a real long time, and I’m still not good at digesting solid stuff yet.” He explains.

“Oh.” Steve nods. “‘s’ okay. C’mon, I’ll set ya up for bed. You need a lot of sleep.”

He stands, and Bucky does the same. They head to Steve’s room, and Steve shoves open the window to let some air in. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, like he’s worried about getting the sheets wrinkled. Steve reaches into his drawer to grab a pair of comfier shorts for both him and Bucky, tossing the blue pair next to Bucky on the bed. Stepping out of the view of the window, Steve pulls off the shorts he’s had on for over two days now, and puts on the clean ones. He doesn’t bother putting on a shirt, he usually sleeps in just shorts. Bucky changes into the shorts Steve gave him, but he leaves the hoodie on, rolling the sleeves up to his forearms.

“Right.” Steve puts his hands on his hips, looking around. He’s not sure what else he can do to make Bucky comfortable. “You’ll be okay in here? I can put a few cushions on the floor in here if you want, I-”

“Like we used to?” Bucky asks, a small smile creeping onto his face. Steve nods. “No, that’s okay, Cap. Think I’ll be alright.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You sure? I’ve slept on worse things than hardwood floor, I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine, Steve.” Bucky assures him. “And you don’t wanna be here if I end up having a nightmare or something. Last time I broke the headboard of the hotel bed and crushed the phone into a lump of plastic.”

“Yeah, let’s try not to do that, okay?” Steve asks slowly.

“I’ll try, Captain Rogers.”

Steve heads for the door, leaning against the doorway. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Night Stevie.”

Steve turns the light off, moves to leave before stopping. “Hey, Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“I’m real glad you came back.”

“Hell, Rogers, we couldn’t stay away from each other if we tried. I’ll always end up back with your sorry ass.”

Steve can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he pads down the hallway on bare feet. Stepping into Natasha’s room, Steve grabs a pillow and extra blanket off of the bed and settles himself on the couch. It’s kind of good that he ended up on the couch- he sleeps better when he’s not in that bed anyway. It’s just too soft. Feels like sleeping on a damn marshmallow. A yawn works its way out of Steve’s mouth as he lays down, and he’s glad to be getting some sleep.

He dreams of Bucky. Not anything in particular, just Bucky in general- his easy smile, his infectious laugh and stupidly funny jokes that used to make Steve laugh until his sides hurt. Falling asleep on the cushions on the floor in positions too close to be comfortable; helping Bucky feed the stray cats that lingered around their apartment building; hazy, hot nights in the middle of summer when they’d do nothing but lay on the floor with all the windows open.

They’re good dreams, so much better than the other ones he’s had in the past.

Apparently Bucky is not having good dreams.

Steve is woken by the sound of Bucky’s anguished shouts, and he almost falls off the couch in surprise. Throwing the blanket off himself, Steve runs down the hallway and shoves open the door, finds Bucky in bed, still asleep, with his hands clenched into fists in the sheets and his face scrunched up in pain. Steve doesn’t want to imagine what he’s dreaming about. He also doesn’t want to imagine what’s going to happen when he wakes him up.

He does it anyway, though, because he can’t stand to see someone he loves in pain like this. Sitting on the bed, Steve takes Bucky’s shoulders and shakes them lightly. It doesn’t do anything right away. After some more shaking, Bucky’s eyes snap open, blue and wide and… _scared_.

“It was just a dream, Buck, it wasn’t real, okay? Steve says softly. “Just a dream.”

He doesn’t tell Bucky that it’s okay, because nothing that happened to him is even remotely okay. Instead, he mumbles calming words to Bucky until he relaxes. Soon after, Bucky tenses up again, climbs out of bed and runs out. Steve hears him go into the bathroom and follows him.

“Oh, Jesus, Buck. I’m sorry.” He groans.

Bucky is on his knees in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach of the omelette from earlier. When he’s done, Bucky sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with his real hand. There are tears in his eyes, and they’re probably from throwing up, but Steve doesn’t ask. If Bucky is crying, though, Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s not his fault that they’re both so catatonically fucked up.

He looks up at Steve, blue-grey eyes pleading, and pants, “Can we- outside. I need- air.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Steve nods. “C’mon, lemme help you up.”

Extending a hand out to Bucky, Steve helps him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leads him to the little porch in the back, with a little couch and enough chairs for all of the team. They sit on the couch, each of them panting and maybe shaking a little. Bucky doesn’t say anything, and neither does Steve.

And so they sit on the porch together in silence, waiting for the sun to rise.

\--

“Nightmares?” Sam asks as soon as Steve opens the door.

Steve shakes his head, stepping aside to let him, Natasha, and Clint inside. Thankfully, Bucky is in the shower, so Steve doesn’t have to introduce them right away. The four of them head into the kitchen, where Clint starts making a pot of coffee. After all this time, it’s still weird to see Clint and Nat in anything that isn’t their suits. Even weirder to see them in casual clothes.

“Well if it wasn’t a nightmare, what was it? Cause you look like you could use some sleep.” Nat says as she sits on the island.

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair. “Bucky.”

“Ohhhh.” Clint, Sam, and Nat all say in unison.

“What happened?” Clint asks.

“Nightmares.” Steve says bluntly.

Sam looks up from today’s paper. “Did he say what they were about?”

“No, but I got a damn good guess.” Steve deadpans.

“Has he eaten anything?” Natasha asks.

“I made an omelette last night, and he threw it all up like two hours later.” He explains.

“Solid food messes with you after not having it for a long time.” Clint says, searching through the cabinets for the sugar. “Where the hell’s the sugar?”

Steve points to the cabinet next to the window. “Up there.”

“You should take him to the Smithsonian today.” Sam suggests. “Might to him good to see some familiar faces.”

“Or it might send him into a panic attack.” Natasha shrugs.

“Not likely.” Sam argues. “This is a weird case, but I don’t think these memories will trigger him. I think it’s the other memories we should worry about. The ones where he’s trying to kill us.”

Steve sighs. “Any updates on any HYDRA bases?”

“Might be one up in a rural area in Connecticut, but we’re not sure yet. Just a few radio signals.” Clint says, pouring a mug for each of them. “How does everyone take their coffee?”

“Barton, you’ve been making my coffee every morning for three months.” Nat deadpans.

Clint rolls his eyes. “Not _you_ , Romanoff. I know you take your coffee _black_ , just like your soul.”

“Hurtful.” Natasha puts a hand on her chest.

“But not untrue.” Sam laughs.

“Can’t argue with you there.” Natasha shrugs.

“Cream and sugar please, Clint.” Steve calls.

Clint grabs the cream from the fridge. “You got it, Cap.”

“Just sugar’s fine for me, thanks.” Sam says from behind the newspaper.

“Yup.”

Steve wanders over to the island and sits next to Natasha, stifles a yawn as Clint hands him a mug. Before he can take a sip, he hears the shower turn off. He takes a rushed sip, burns his tongue, and then slides off the counter. Clint strikes up a conversation about the HYDRA base, and Steve is grateful that he doesn’t have to warn them to act normal. He leaves the coffee next to Nat, and pads down the hallway to the bathroom and knocks on the door.

“Buck?”

“Hm?” Bucky answers.

“D’you have clothes?” Steve leans against the doorway.

“Just underwear, I didn’t wanna go through your drawers.” Bucky says.

“I’ll get you some clothes.” Steve says, heading back into his room.

He opens a few drawers and searches through them, looking for a particular pair of shorts that should fit Bucky. They’re probably the same size now, but he grabs a pair that’s a little too small for him anyway, hoping he’s still the tiniest bit taller. As he grabs a t-shirt, Bucky pads in on bare feet and leans on the doorway. Steve hears him and looks up. He’s got a towel over his shoulder, and is standing there in just boxer-briefs.

“Who’s here?” Bucky asks, running his hands through his wet hair.

“A couple friends.” Steve says, tossing him the shorts and averting his eyes from his toned chest. “You’ll like ‘em, promise.”

Bucky catches the shorts and pulls them on, then grabs a blue t-shirt from one of the drawers. “Is it anyone I…”

“Yeah, you’ve already met two of them. They aren’t, like, mad at you though. Well, Nat’s a little mad. She’s got a scar that apparently makes her unable to wear bikinis, and-” Steve cuts off, realizing he’s rambling. “I’ll make sure they’re nice.”

Bucky nods. “We gonna go meet ‘em or stand in here and smile at each other all day?”

Steve laughs, makes his way towards the door. “C’mon, you jackass.”

“Jerk.”

They make their way into the kitchen, Bucky just a few steps behind Steve, and find Natasha and Clint bickering about something. Sam’s still reading the paper, and none of them stop what they’re doing when Steve and Bucky come in. They each sit on top of the island, Steve grabbing his coffee and giving Sam a half-hearted salute. When there’s a break in Nat and Clint’s little argument, they look over at him and Bucky.

“Oh.” Bucky says, looking at Natasha. “I know you. Spider girl.”

Clint snorts, and Nat whacks his arm. “Actually, it’s just Natasha. Nice to finally meet you, Barnes, I’ve heard a lot about you from Steve. A _lot_.”

“Only the good stuff.” Steve mumbles.

“Bucky Barnes. Pleasure.” Bucky smiles at Nat, then turns to Sam.

Sam folds up his paper, smiling at Bucky. “You gonna try to rip my arm off this time?”

Bucky’s smile slides from his face, and Steve clears his throat loudly. “Um, Sam was in the army too. Pararescueman.”

“Oh, you were the one with the wings.” Bucky nods.

“Mhm.” Sam nods. “Sam Wilson.”

“Sergeant James Barnes, at your service.” Bucky salutes him, and he laughs. He turns to Clint, cocking his head. “We’ve never met, have we?”

“Actually we have.” Clint takes a sip of his coffee.

“You _have_?” Steve asks.

“Yep. We were both trying to kill Natasha at the same time, and then Nat and me were running from you for a few weeks.” Clint explains.

“Oh.” Bucky nods.

Clint gives him an easy smile. “No worries, though. I’ve done the whole brainwashed thing. Fucking sucks. Oh, I’m Clint Barton, by the way, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Bucky smiles back.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve asks.

“Working on something in the lab with Banner.” Clint says. He looks at Bucky. “Tony’s kinda a jerk, and Bruce would just be looking at your arm the whole time, you’re not really missing out.”

Bucky shrugs, flexing his metal hand. “Maybe they can make it better. Needs a tune-up, actually, it’s been a while.”

Steve is surprised, he would’ve expected Bucky to resent that arm and all it’s done. “Well, we can take a trip to New York soon and have them check it out, if you want.”

“Sure.” Bucky shrugs.

“I know you probably won’t want to go today, but I brought you guys a brochure for your exhibit, Cap.” Natasha pulls a little pamphlet out of her bag and hands it to Steve.

There’s a picture of his face on the front, along with the words “Captain America: Our Nation’s Greatest Hero” in big bold letters. He unfolds it and reads through the little paragraphs, talking about his shield and his first suit and everything. Bucky leans into his side and reads it as well.

“Want to go later?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “If you want to.”

“I’d ask to join you, but I’m not really one for sharing tragic backstories, y’know?” Natasha wrinkles her nose.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Anyone up for breakfast? I make damn good hash browns.”

“I could eat.” Sam nods. “I could definitely eat.”

So Steve gets to work at the stove, whipping up another omelette and some hash browns. While he cooks, Steve pays special attention to Bucky. He’s quiet, but not rude. He mostly listens, only speaks when spoken to or every so often when he feels the need. It’s nice to see that he gets along with everyone so well. Every once in a while he’ll give a small smile at someone’s joke, and it makes Steve proud, in a weird way. It makes him think that maybe Bucky is doing better than he thought before.

When the food’s done, Steve gives everyone a plate. Holding Bucky’s, Steve walks over and hands it to him. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” He asks.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re up for it.” Steve says. “You got real sick last night.”

Bucky shrugs. “Told you I’m not too good on solid food yet. Maybe I’ll be able to hold it down this time.”

He doesn’t specify why he’s not on solid food, and Steve doesn’t ask, doesn’t want Bucky to say anything he isn’t comfortable with. When there’s time, he’ll pull Sam aside and ask for some tips on handling Bucky’s nightmares and flashbacks. Judging by Sam’s attitude towards Bucky right now, it seems like Sam thinks he’s doing pretty well socially, for someone who went without real conversation for such a long time.

When he catches Sam’s eye, he raises his eyebrows in a silent question: _How’s he doing_? Sam gives him a smile and nods, then turns back to Clint, who’s telling a story about how he walked in on Tony playing with parts of his suit like they were toy cars. Steve tries to listen, he really does, but he finds himself transfixed with the line of Bucky’s jaw, the way he pushes his hair back when it flops into his face. It’s mesmerizing, and Steve wants to pull out a sketchbook and draw him over and over, wants to memorize every dimple and easy smile so he never has to go without it again. Someday soon, he’ll ask Bucky if he can sketch him.

Once everyone’s finished, Steve volunteers to help Sam do the dishes. “How’s he doing?” He asks again.

“Hell of a lot better than I thought he’d be.” Sam says, handing him a plate to dry. “He’s still very quiet, though. Kinda like he’s afraid to talk too much, y’know?”

“Well, back when we were younger, it was a miracle if I could get him to stop talking.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Sounds like you.” Sam laughs. “You said he had nightmares, did he say what they were about?”

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t wanna push him and ask. He was pretty shaken up, and then he threw up the food I made him.”

“They probably had him hooked up to tubes for so long he didn’t even know how to swallow.” Sam says.

“He must’ve learned while he was out there alone, ‘cause he seemed just fine last night.” Steve shrugs. “‘s there anything I should, like, cook? To help him keep it down?”

“Look, man, I’m a therapist, not a dietitian.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “Probably just plain stuff, though. Stuff you can keep down when everything else is coming back up.”

“I can’t just give him toast, Sam.” Steve frowns.

Sam glares at him. “Not what I meant, Rogers.”

“C’mon.” Steve finishes drying the last plate. “Let’s go outside.”

Out on the porch, Clint is telling Bucky about Tony, Bruce, and Thor. Apparently Stark is throwing a party for some big business success next week, so they’re debriefing him on everyone he’ll meet. Still, he’ll probably meet them before. A party at Stark tower means they’ll have to fly into New York, and that makes Steve a little nervous. It’s not a good idea for Bucky to be around so many people, not just yet.

Bucky is sitting on the couch, watching Clint intently as he speaks. Nat is on the armchair next to him, legs folded under her, glancing at her nails.

“Tony’s kinda a jerk at first, before he warms up to you.” Clint says.

“He talks really fast, and there’s gonna be a lot of dumb insults at first.” Nat adds.

“Not if we tell him to be nice.” Steve frowns.

Clint nods. “We’ll tell him to be nice. Bruce is a really smart doctor, and sometimes we call him Bruce, sometimes we call him Banner, sometimes we call him the Other Guy.” He shrugs. “Everybody’s got a lot of nicknames.”

“Why do you call him the Other Guy?” Bucky asks.

“Cause when he gets mad he gets all big and green and breaks a lot of stuff. Also known as the Hulk. Not someone you wanna go and get lunch with.” Sam explains.

“Oh, I’ve seen him on the news.” Bucky nods. “Who’s the third one?”

“Name’s Thor.” Clint says. “He’s a demigod. Like, literally. God of thunder and king of some other ‘realm’.”

“There are more realms now?” Bucky looks confused.

Clint nods. “Yeah, but I can explain that another day.” He says. “He’s a good guy. Values honor, integrity, stuff like that. He’ll like you, he likes people who listen when he tells tales of his escapades.”

“Okay. Anyone else?” Bucky asks.

“Well, there’s also JARVIS, but he’s not really a person. He’s one of Stark’s machines, programmed to work as… a butler, almost.” Natasha says.

“I am here for your every need, Sergeant Barnes.” JARVIS says pleasantly.

Bucky’s eyes widen like saucers. “Where is it coming from?”

“Tiny speakers all over the place. He runs most of Stark Industries, and what he can’t cover, Tony and Pepper get.” Clint says.

“Pepper?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Tony’s girlfriend.” Steve supplies. “She’s real nice, you’ll like her.”

“This is just the counselor in me speaking, but I don’t think you should go to that party, Bucky.” Sam speaks up.

Bucky cocks his head. “And why’s that?”

“All the people and the questions and everything might be overwhelming. You’re not completely yourself yet, and until then I think you should stay a bit isolated until you are.” Sam explains.

“I’m not a threat, I can be good.” Bucky frowns.

“I wasn’t saying that because you’re a threat, I was saying it because you haven’t really adjusted yet. You’re still a bit new to this normal lifestyle.” Sam says.

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky nods. “No parties, then.”

Natasha checks her phone. “If you two want to go to the Smithsonian, you should go now, before it gets crowded and you get spotted or something.”

Steve looks to Bucky. “Buck? You up for a little trip back in time?”

“Well…” Bucky looks at Steve, as if searching for an answer. “Sure.”

“Shall I get a car ready, Captain?” JARVIS asks.

“Yes please, JARVIS.” Steve nods, standing. “You guys gonna be here when we get back?”

Sam shakes his head. “Takin’ these goons to Georgia Brown’s for lunch, they’ve never experienced the mac ‘n cheese. Or the fried chicken.”

“Is that the place you were talking about? With the good mac ‘n cheese?” Bucky asks.

“Yep. Now let’s go, Barnes. I wanna get there before we’re graying.” Steve steps back inside, holding the door for Bucky.

Bucky stands, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say, old man.” They head inside.

“You’re old too!” Steve shouts, and Bucky cringes when he raises his voice. “Sorry.”

The two of them make their way into Steve’s room and each pull on shoes and socks, and Steve averts his eyes as Bucky trades his hoodie for a blue t-shirt. Once he’s grabbed his keys and phone, Steve says goodbye to Sam, Clint, and Nat, and then hop into the sleek black sports car waiting for them out front.

Bucky seems quite interested in all the buttons on the car’s dash, and he doesn’t say much as Steve drives them to the Smithsonian. They get out in front of the National Air and Space Museum, after Steve asks JARVIS to find a parking spot. There’s a large banner with Steve’s face on it hung on the building, with the same thing it said on the pamphlet: ‘ _Captain America: Our Nation’s Greatest Hero. Exhibit open now!_ ’.

As Bucky gets out of the car, Steve notices that he’s staring up at the banner curiously, like he isn’t sure if it’s really him in the picture. To pull him out of his daze, Steve throws an arm around his shoulder and guides him towards the building. If Bucky is even remotely interested in the planes on the ceiling, he doesn’t show it, so once they’ve passed the security check, they head straight to the Captain America exhibit.

They’re the only ones looking at the exhibit, so Steve doesn’t mind explaining who’s who and what’s what. Once Bucky’s reminded, it seems that he remembers most of the things there. He identifies Dugan and Dernier on sight, even tells a story about when they filled Gabe’s boots with mud as a joke. There’s old music playing, an old song that Steve can tell that Bucky remembers because every once in a while he hums along to the words.

A screen has an old clip of the two of them laughing and talking on loop, smiling at each other like they’re the only people in the world. Both of them stand there watching it for longer than they should. When they reach the Howling Commandos area, they stop at Bucky’s own memorial. Bucky looks at the pictures of himself, and then reads the words beside his picture.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

“Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi throughout the European Theater.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country. 1917 to 1944.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. “It’s my fault, you know.”

“What is?” Bucky looks over at him.

“You were falling, and I could’ve saved you.” Steve keeps his eyes trained on the picture of Bucky, so he doesn’t have to look at the whole thing. “I just-” He breaks off. “I could’ve saved you.”

“Well, I’ve got a whole list of things that are my fault. Maybe we should go to confession.” Bucky says, looking back at his memorial. “I haven’t been in a few decades, and our mothers would be disappointed.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just follows Bucky to another plaque to read. It’s still weird, being surrounded by all this memorabilia and information about him. It’s weird to see his face everywhere, weird to read his name everywhere, weird to read about things that even he’d forgotten about. Everything’s just weird.

“When we’re done looking, Nat told me they’ve got some stuff of ours that isn’t on display that I can pick up. We get to go to the archives and everything.” He says after a while.

“We can go now, if you want. I can tell this is making you sad.” Bucky steps away from the replica of Steve’s shield.

Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets and looks around for someone he can ask for help. Zeroing in on a security guard near by, he straightens up, squares his shoulders, and heads over. “Excuse me, I was told I could pick up some belongings of mine that aren’t currently on display.”

“Lost items are over there, pal.” The woman says.

“Oh. I’m, uh, I’m Steve Rogers.” Steve clears his throat awkwardly.

The woman looks at Steve, and then at the pictures of Steve behind him. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Right this way, please.”

They follow her to a desk in a back room, where a skinny man named Jake leads them to an elevator. Once downstairs, they’re led through a series of rooms, each with items from current and past exhibits. When they reach the Captain America Exhibit, Jake tells Steve to take it all, if he wants to, it’s his stuff after all. So Steve calls Jarvis, asks him to get a few agents and a bigger car to help him take all the stuff.

Bucky and Steve only look through one of the boxes while they wait, deciding to look through the other when they get back to the house. The first thing in the box is an old manila folder with pages of rejected enlistments, each with Steve from a different city in the Tristate area. The next thing is an old pair of aviators with one cracked lens.

“I remember these.” Bucky smiles. “I nicked ‘em from some shop in England.”

“Yeah, I remember when you came home with ‘em, I gave you shit for spending money on them.” Steve chuckles.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky shrugs. “I stole ‘em.”

The next thing is a copy of the Hobbit, one that Bucky bought Steve for his birthday one year. It must have been taken from their old apartment, because neither of them brought it with them when they were shipped out to their bases. Carefully opening to the inside cover, Steve reads the message that Bucky wrote for him so long ago.

‘ _To my idiot best friend Stevie: Sorry I couldn’t get you a real good present, you know how expensive stuff is now. If this isn’t a good enough present, we’ll save up and I’ll get you something good. Hope your birthday’s as good as you always make mine. Your friend, Bucky._ ’

Handing the book to Bucky, Steve watches as he reads the inscription too. Bucky smiles as he reads it, not looking up even as he speaks. “For your twentieth birthday. Saved up my pay for three months for this book.”

“And we both read it every summer. We’d take turns with each couple chapters.” Steve nods.

Bucky puts the book down on the table, reaches for the next thing in the box. It’s a stack of old photos, pictures of their apartment and their view from the window, Steve and Bucky laughing, Bucky laying on the couch reading a book, Steve sitting on the windowsill with his sketchbook, Bucky making breakfast, Bucky laughing at something that’s probably a young Steve behind the camera.

The last thing in the box is an old, faded Altoid tin. It probably used to be red, but now it’s brown, faded and dented. When Bucky picks it up, something clanks inside, the sound of metal against metal. Slowly, Bucky pops it open and looks at what’s inside. Steve can’t see it, and he doesn’t want to impose on Bucky’s personal space, so he waits for Bucky to pull them out.

Slowly, with careful, chrome fingers, Bucky pulls out two shiny chains, each with two dog tags. The museum curators must have polished them, because they sure as hell weren’t that clean when they got in there. By some miracle, both of theirs are there.

“How do you have mine?” Bucky mutters, looking intently at his own necklace. “I mean, wasn’t I…”

“Wearing it?” Steve supplies. “No. I’d been wearing it for a while. Took ‘em both off when I put on that suit.” He explains.

Bucky nods. “Can I… Am I allowed to wear them?” He asks, hesitantly, like he’s afraid Steve will refuse.

“Go for it, wear both.” Steve nods.

Slowly, Bucky slips the chains over his head, watching as they fall onto his chest. Looking down at them, a small smile grows on his face. It’s that slow and easy smile that probably hides a hundred and one things he’s not saying.

“How come you were wearing my tags?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up, because he knows that a lot of soldiers would give their tags to their girlfriends or wives when they were done serving. “You told me you wouldn’t need identification if you died, ‘cause nobody woulda gotten a letter but me. And I woulda been the first one to know.”

“Oh.” Bucky nods.

A SHIELD agent comes in a moment later, a young guy who’s probably new, and starts carrying boxes to an SUV waiting outside. Steve and Bucky help him carry them, say thanks, and then start walking towards the National Mall, where the World War 2 memorial is, and where Steve’s own memorial is. It’s not a far walk, only about a mile, and it’s not unbearably hot out, either. Actually, it looks like it’s going to rain.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, fiddling with the chains with his real hand.

“Our memorial.” Steve says.

Bucky cocks his head. “ _Our_ memorial?”

“World War 2 and Captain America Memorial, yeah.” Steve amends.

It starts raining just as they reach the Mall, but not hard enough to make them want to leave, so they set off in search of the memorials. Other people leave as the rain gets harder, but Steve doesn’t have anything he needs to keep out of the rain on him (Tony gave him one of those waterproof cases for his phone), so they keep walking. The Captain America memorial comes first, a huge, granite shield surrounded by blooming cherry blossom trees.

Steve’s only ever seen pictures of it before, and it’s weird seeing it in person. Slowly, he and Bucky walk around the memorial to the back, where there’s an inscription on the rock. It talks about how Steve grew up in Brooklyn, and was always small until the serum, and then the war, and eventually his sacrifice for the country. The one thing it doesn’t say is that it was more of a suicide mission than a sacrifice.

“Hm. I woulda thought they’d change it once everybody knew you’re alive.” Bucky says.

“Yeah, I thought they would too.” Steve shrugs.

Bucky looks around, walks over to one of the cherry blossom trees and plays with a flower. “It’s nice here, though. I like it. What’s the other place you wanna go to?” He pulls a few flowers down, smells them, and keeps it safely in his right hand.

“World War 2 Memorial.” Steve says. “This is the first time I’ve seen either of these, so I have no idea what they look like in person.”

“Oh.” Bucky nods. “How come you’ve never seen them before?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Too sad. And up until now, I guess, it all reminded me of you too much.” He shrugs.

“Of me?” Bucky’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. His hair’s wet from the rain, falling into his face in wet strands. “Huh. Captain America’s got a soft side.”

“Don’t say that like you’re surprised.” Steve groans. “You of all people know that I’ve got a soft side.”

Bucky nods. “Well yeah, otherwise no one would know about that time you let like ten kids go before you in the emergency room when you broke your leg.”

Steve looks over at Bucky as they walk, amazed that he remembers. “Your memory’s even better than mine, Buck, I don’t even remember that.”

Bucky just shrugs and keeps walking. As they near the memorial, it starts to rain harder. It puts more polka-dots on their clothes and makes Bucky’s long eyelashes clump up. Steve always loved how long his eyelashes were; long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks, long enough to brush against his cheekbones every time he blinks.

There are water droplets running down Steve’s arms and down his face, making him feel like he’s crying himself a river. He hasn’t cried since he read Bucky’s file from HYDRA. That was also the last time he threw up.

When they reach the memorial, they find it completely void of people. He and Bucky walk around it slowly, looking at the pillars and the fountain, at the flowers people have left at certain states. When they reach New York’s pillar, Bucky places the blossom he’d picked before next to someone else’s red rose. There’s a silent solemness to the whole place, a quiet sadness that makes Steve want to leave a flower at every state.

“I didn’t think we’d end up with this when I enlisted.” Bucky says into the silence.

“Neither did the other sixteen million folks.” Steve says back.

Bucky walks towards the Freedom Wall, towards the four thousand-something stars that adorn the stone. ' _Here we mark the price of freedom'_ , it reads. Two one hundredths of those stars belong to Steve and Bucky, metaphorically. Reaching forward, Bucky touches one of the stars with his metal hand. As he reaches out, something happens with his arm and he groans.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks quickly.

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, where metal meets flesh. “The pins are hurting.” He grimaces, rolling the shoulder.

“I’ll call Tony right now, he can fix you up a new one.” He offers.

“No, I can wait.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’d rather stay at your place another night, look through all of our stuff.”

Oh, right. The boxes and boxes of things from their apartment. Steve hopes they won’t come across his sketchbooks- they’re all filled with sketches of Bucky. Some were hastily drawn sketches of a naked torso, and some were complicated and intricate drawings of a hand. Still, even if they don’t all include Bucky’s face, Steve’s sure he’ll be able to identify his own body parts.

Once Bucky’s had his fill of the memorial, they start the walk towards the car. Steve sends a text to JARVIS, and the car is waiting for them when they reach the road. They climb inside, and Steve puts on the radio and they head home. It’s still raining, even after they get back to the apartment.

Steve unlocks the door and heads inside, toes off his shoes and socks by the door so he doesn’t get the floor wet. Bucky does the same, but he leaves his socks on. Leaving his keys on the table by the door, Steve heads for his bedroom, shedding his t-shirt on the way. Once in his room, he picks out clothes for him and Bucky, pleased to see the neatly folded stack of new clothes on the bed for Bucky.

He tells Bucky to pick out what he wants while he pulls on a pair of joggers and a long-sleeved shirt. Bucky just pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and Steve is glad that he’s comfortable enough to feel like he doesn’t have to cover up.  After he’s dried his hair on a towel in the bathroom, Steve asks Bucky to look through some of the boxes with him. They’re all in the kitchen, sitting on the table or island. They pull the boxes down from the island, sit on the stools, and go through one each.

Steve’s box is filled with clothes, old ugly things that no one would be caught dead wearing today. There’s also a few things from around their apartment- a framed painting of Steve’s, a cross that used to hang over the entryway, and a pair of dice from some old game he and Bucky used to love betting on.

Bucky’s box is filled with books- old, old books that are probably worth a lot nowadays, considering their age and previous owners. There’s also a single sketchbook, which, thankfully, is filled with watercolor paintings of the view out their window at sunset. All of them are painted in the same hues, all kinds of oranges and browns and pinks. It’s fitting though- if Steve had to pick a color to describe their apartment in Brooklyn, it’d be deep orange. A warm color, one that represents hazy nights in June and July when they’d lay around in nothing but their boxers, one that represents scorching mornings and being woken up by burning sunlight.

It’s been a while since Steve painted or sketched anything, and suddenly his hands are aching to draw Bucky, to sketch out the lines in his face and sinewy curves of his waist. There’s a sketchbook and some other supplies in the drawer by Steve’s bed; he’ll grab them before Bucky goes to sleep.

The next box is more sketchbooks, filled with pages and pages of sketches and paintings. Bucky likes the smallest one best, the one Steve would carry with him when they’d go out. It’s filled with messy sketches of pretty flowers and trees, tiny drawings of birds and cats outside their window. Smiling as he leafs through the pages, Bucky bumps Steve’s knee with his own.

“I remember this.” He points at a small sketch of a cherry blossom tree. “Summer you turned seventeen.”

Steve nods. “You took me into the city, we went to Central Park.”

“Mhm.” Bucky turns the page, points to a watercolor painting of fireworks. “From your birthday.”

“You used to tell me that the fireworks were just for me, not the Fourth of July.” Steve recalls.

“You deserved all the fireworks in the world. Still do.” Bucky says.

Steve feels his cheeks heat up, so he turns his gaze back to a sketchbook, pretends to be very interested in a drawing of an old car. Neither of them say anything for a while, until Bucky speaks up a few minutes later.

“What’s the date?” He asks.

“July first, why?” Steve says.

Bucky grins. “Cause your birthday’s coming up.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve nods. “Nat’s been saying that we’re all going to the beach.”

“Haven’t been to the beach in a while.” Bucky muses. “I need to work on my tan.”

“Maybe the serum means I won’t get so sunburnt anymore.” Steve smiles at him, remembering weeks of red-skinned torture, with only cold baths and lots of sleep to help him get better.

Bucky groans. “Used to peel entire layers of skin off your back, Rogers. Never seen anything like it, I swear.”

“I was a mess.” Steve shakes his head.

There’s a long pause before Bucky speaks. “Now we’re both messes, I guess.”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

They keep going through the sketchbooks, smiling at drawings they remember and asking about pictures they don’t. There’s a lot of Bucky posing, but they’re mostly unfinished, because he’d ask to model, and then he’d get bored and they’d do something more fun.

“Wanna watch some TV?” Steve asks. “Or we could have Nat and Sam and Clint over again, it looked like you guys were getting along well.”

Bucky nods. “I liked them. Especially the one with the bad ears.”

“Hm?” Steve frowns. “What d’you mean?”

“One of the guys has terrible hearing. He’s got a hearing aid in, but he still tilts his head to one side to compensate. Didn’t you notice?” Bucky asks.

“Well, I know Clint’s nearly deaf, but I’d never really noticed any abnormalities when he’s got his hearing aid in. If he doesn’t have it in, he just asks us to talk slow so he can read our lips.” Steve says.

Bucky nods. “Well, I like him. He laughs at my bad jokes and says I’m funny.”

“He says that to everyone.” Steve laughs.

“You sayin’ I ain’t funny, punk?”  Bucky raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause you _know_ I’m funnier than you.”

Steve smirks. “I know you might _think_ that, Buck, but, uh, you’re very wrong.”

“That’s not what Clint says.” Bucky turns his nose up.

“Maybe not, but Clint can’t even hear your jokes, he’s half deaf.” Steve jokes. “He’s just doing it to make you _feel_ better.”

“Yeah, okay. And who was the one telling me I was funny before Clint? Think long and hard, Rogers.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Ooh, yeah, I went there.”

Steve laughs some more, putting his hand on his chest. “I’m hurt.”

“Aren’t we all.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

They laugh some more, and then go back to looking through the last few boxes. One is filled with more military paperwork: missing in action certificates, letters to family members who were already dead, papers regarding Steve’s transformation after the serum, papers Steve signed _before_ the serum, and more. There’s a framed picture of one of Steve’s paintings of the view from their window (he always painted and drew that; it was the nicest view in the whole apartment).

The last box contains only pictures. Pictures, and pictures, and pictures. Pictures of Bucky lounging on his cot in their tent, pictures of the Howling Commandos peering down at a map, pictures of Peggy sitting on a table and barking orders at soldiers, pictures of Steve and Bucky laughing their asses off at something. Mostly Bucky doing all sorts of mundane things, but they’re beautiful nonetheless.

The pictures were taken on a camera that Steve found in an abandoned bar during the war, along with a bag full of film. He’d spent a lot of time looking at Bucky through that lens, and even more time looking at him when he thought Bucky wouldn’t notice. He always would, though, and he’d give Steve a smirk or a wink and then go back to what he was doing.

“Shit.” Bucky drops the pictures he’s holding, clutching his stomach with his hand.

“What? What is it?” Steve asks quickly.

Suddenly all the blood drains out of Bucky’s face, and he slides off the chair and runs for the bathroom. Steve follows him, kneeling behind him as he retches into the toilet. When his stomach is empty, Bucky sits back on his heels, breathing heavily. Steve rubs a few circles into his back and grabs him a glass of water.

When he gets back into the bathroom, Bucky is sitting on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. “Every time. I get a headache every single time, without fail.”

Steve hands him the water. “Well do you throw up every time?”

“No, not every time. Just most of the time.” Bucky mutters.

“You should sleep.” Steve says. “It’ll make your stomach and head feel better.”

“I’m all strung out.” Bucky shakes his head. “And I’ll probably have a nightmare.”

“Then I’ll be right there to shake you out of it.” Steve says firmly. “C’mon.”

Slowly, Bucky stands. “Couch or bed?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Bed.” Bucky decides.

“Lead the way, Serg.” Steve gives him a small smile.

Bucky and Steve make their way into Steve’s room, where Bucky makes the bed and settles himself on top of the duvet. He’s on his side, with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. Sitting next to him, Steve plops down with his back against the headboard and his head against a pillow. Bucky’s back is to him, but he doesn’t mind.

He thinks back a few days, to when Bucky showed up at the Avengers Tower barely breathing. Why was he hurt? Had he been on his own this whole time? Where had he slept? Had he gotten a job to pay for food and clothes and everything? Steve has to know. Because if Bucky had been alone for all that time, thinking he was some heartless monster that almost killed his best friend, well, that hurts more than a kick in the gut.

“Buck?” He asks quietly.

“Hm?” Bucky mumbles.

“Where were you? All those months after you saved me?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs noncommittally. “I was in Virginia for a while, and then New Jersey and New York. I knew you were looking for me, but I didn’t want to go to you if I couldn’t trust myself around you.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Steve asks, and there’s Brooklyn in his voice.

“If I hurt you, _again_ , Steve- I….” Bucky breaks off. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I barely can now. All those things I’ve done, all those people I’ve killed…”

“Bucky-”

“Your friend. Stark. I was assigned to his parents. There was no explanation except that they were simply too good.” Bucky says. “Two parents with a little kid with wide eyes and a bright smile. I had to kill them.”

Steve swallows. “But you didn’t. Tony’s still here, you let him live-”

“Because he was a _child_.” Bucky snaps. “The fact that I made the conscious decision to spare him shows that I wasn’t too unaware of my actions, after all.”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Steve, I _shot_ you.” Bucky says loudly. “And there is _nothing_ you can say to make that better.”

Steve closes his eyes. “You weren’t yourself-”

“Just don’t, Steve.” Bucky growls. “Go. Please.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he gets up and heads for the door. Shutting the door behind him, Steve makes his way into the living room and throws himself onto the couch. Elbows on his knees, he puts his head in his hands and groans. He pulls out his phone, sending two texts: one to Natasha and one to Sam.

_**To Natasha: I think he might be mad at me?** _

**From Natasha: What did you do?**

_**To Natasha: Can you just come over?** _

**From Natasha: There in 10.**

Sam’s message is a little different.

_**To Sam: Can you come over? We had an argument and now he’s mad at me and I have no idea how to deal with any of this.** _

**From Sam: Sure, man. Me & Nat will b there soon. U want Clint to come ?**

_**To Sam: Yes please.** _

After locking his phone, Steve shoves it back into his pocket and leans back. It’s not long until someone’s sliding a key into the door, and his friends are letting themselves in quietly. All three of them sit on the couch with Steve, Clint on his right and Nat on his left. Sam goes into the kitchen in search of tea, saying it’ll help Steve calm down. But being calm isn’t the problem. Steve _is_ calm.

“You okay?” Clint asks.

“Oh yeah.” Steve nods, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I’m really lovin’ the assassin sandwich, here. Really great.”

Natasha barks out a laugh. “Okay, Okay. Why don’t you tell us all why we’re here?”

“This ain’t a joint therapy session, Romanoff.” Sam breezes in, handing Steve a cup of tea.

“We were talking, and I asked what he’d been doing between the Potomac and when he showed up at the Tower.” Steve explains. “He told me he was staying away so he wouldn’t hurt me. And then he started saying how he can’t live with how many people he’s killed, and he told me he was the one who killed Tony’s parents.”

No one looks surprised.

“Did you all already know?” He snaps.

“You only read his personal file. Not the file with all his missions.” Nat says. “He spared Tony. File says he escaped and hid from the Winter Soldier.”

“Does Stark know?” Steve asks.

Clint nods. “He’s trying to show that he isn’t holding a grudge, that’s why he’s throwing the party.”

“Oh.” Steve nods in understanding. “Too bad we aren’t going.”

“You should give Barnes some time to think.” Sam speaks up. “Sounds like he needs some alone time.”

Clint’s phone rings, so Steve and the others quiet down while he answers. When he hangs up, he gives them a look. “We gotta go. Fury wants us for a meeting right away.”

“All of us?” Steve asks, looking towards his closed bedroom door.

“No. Just me and Nat.” Clint says, looking over at Natasha.

“Any word on why?” Natasha asks quickly.

Clint shakes his head. “No, but he wants us there now.” He looks to Sam. “You coming or staying?”

Sam looks at Steve, raising his eyebrows. “You want me to stay? I got a date in an hour, but I can tell her something came up.”

“No, go to your date, don’t worry about it.” Steve says.

With a few goodbyes, the three of them leave the apartment, leaving Steve and Bucky behind. Steve finishes his tea and wanders into the living room, where he flops down on the couch to watch some TV. A while later, he hears the shower turn on.

When it turns off, Bucky comes into the living room, wearing only a pair of joggers. His hair is wet and messy, hanging around his face like a wet mop. He sits down on the couch beside Steve, close enough that their knees touch. Neither of them say anything for a while, and that’s okay, because it’s enough to just be together.

Later, just a few hours after they’re retreated to their beds (well, couch, in Steve’s case), Bucky wakes up screaming. Steve calms him down again and brings him outside, and they sit together on one of the couches and wait for the sun to rise. Bucky falls asleep again after a while, his head lolling onto Steve’s shoulder while he snores softly. He’s drooling on Steve’s shirt a bit, but he doesn’t mind.

Steve knows this Bucky. This is the Bucky who he’d spend long hours in the hot July sun with, sharing a soda from the corner store and waiting for the heat to go away so they could mess around outside; the Bucky he’d drawn hundreds of times, mapped out every inch of his skin, drawn him enough that he’s got two or three sketchbooks filled with just Bucky; the Bucky he spent hours wondering what was going on in his beautiful mind.

This is the Bucky who knows everything about Steve, too. Knows how he’d been colorblind and deaf in one ear and had asthma since birth, knows how he used to beg Bucky to read to him when he was sick and even when he was well, too. Knows how he’d never back down from a fight, no matter how hopeless the odds were. He knows how he’d been afraid of thunder until the age of fifteen, and that his favorite color’s always been blue because it’s the only one he could fucking see.

So Steve sits there and lets Bucky drool onto his shirt, because if he closes his eyes and listens to nothing but the crickets chirping and his soft snoring, he can almost pretend that he’s back in Brooklyn, where everything was normal and all he ever had to know was that he had Bucky. Back then, the craziest thing that ever happened was when they’d save up and go to Coney Island and spend the day.

Bucky wakes up when the sun starts to come up, laughing a bit when he sees the drool on Steve’s shirt. Their shoulders are touching and if he wanted, it’d be as easy as breathing to wrap his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, but he doesn’t, because they’re in a perfect little moment already and he doesn’t want to ruin it like everything else.

\--

There are good days and bad days. Bad days happen more often, when it’s a job to get Bucky to get out of bed, to put down the knife and take a breath. Days when he mopes around in a big sweatshirt, covering that metal arm like he’s afraid he’s going to hurt even himself. On those days, Steve’s lucky if he can get him to say more than a few sentences.

It’s okay though. Sam and the other therapists say he’s healing, and this is part of the process.

On good days, Bucky will be bright and lively, just like the one Steve used to know. He’ll make jokes and smile often- those easy smiles that make his eyes crinkle at the sides- and sometimes he’ll even make breakfast and lunch for him and Steve, and dinner for the whole team. Turns out he’s still a great cook.

The team _loves_ him. Natasha and him bond over their hatred for the KGB and often speak Russian in hushed voices and laugh loudly in between, to which everyone complains that they’re sharing secrets about Steve and the rest of the team. Just like Clint said, Thor takes a great liking to him as well. He thinks that his dry humor and sarcastic insults are hilarious, and Bucky can always get that booming laugh going within ten minutes of his arrival.

After assuring him that he’s not mad about anything that happened a few months ago, Sam and Bucky become fast friends as well. In a running joke, Bucky always acts like he’s jealous of Sam and Steve whenever they’re hanging out, saying that they’ve had seventy years to do that, and that it’s his turn to hang with boy wonder again.

Bruce and Tony take a liking to him, and after a few days, Bucky allows them to remove the arm from HYDRA and fix it up. It’s scary when they find out that there was an explosive in there, rigged to blow if he was captured. They take out the tracker and fix the pins that were bothering Bucky before, and then replace the scratched plate where the Soviet star used to be with a star that almost matches the one on Steve’s shield.

On Steve’s birthday, Bucky and the team take him to the beach, where they sit and watch the fireworks on a few blankets. Just like when they were younger, Bucky insists that those fireworks are solely for Steve, and who cares about the country’s independence anyway? That earns him a small shove from Steve, and Bucky shoves him back, and they both end up tumbling down into the sand, practically on top of each other.

Instead of it being awkward, it’s funny, each of them laughing until their sides ache. After the fireworks are over, Nat grabs a bag from the car and makes Steve sit in a circle with everyone while they give him his gifts. For the second year in a row, Tony gives him an _I heart Iron Man_ t-shirt, which Steve promises to wear to bed every night. Thor gifts him a bottle of Asguardian mead, promising that even though regular alcohol can’t get him drunk, this stuff sure as hell can.

He gets a set of keys from Natasha, who promises that there’s a shiny new motorcycle waiting for him in the Tower. Dr. Banner gets him a magnetic bracer to go on his arm, one that’ll make his shield come flying back even quicker than before. From Sam, Steve gets a pair of Knicks tickets, and makes him promise that he’ll take Bucky to a game. Clint gives him a brand new painting easel (well, a picture of a brand new painting easel, waiting for him in the apartment).

And then it’s Bucky’s turn. He’s sitting to Steve’s right, nervously tugging at the chains around his neck. “Well _shit_ , nobody told me we were getting _nice_ gifts.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Bucky, you know that.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, Steve.” Clint snaps.

Bucky laughs at that, pulling one of the chains over his head. He hands it to Steve, pressing the tags into his palm. The metal is warm from his skin. “‘s all I got, Stevie. Sorry.” He shrugs.

Steve holds the tags up, reading Bucky’s name where it’s been pressed into the metal. _James Buchanan Barnes_. “This is great, Bucky. Thank you.”

Steve reaches over and pulls Bucky into a hug, still clutching his tags in his hand. Bucky smells like cologne and charcoal, a smell that Steve’s missed more than he’d care to admit. When they separate, Bucky plants a dramatic kiss on his cheek, sending his heart soaring and turning the team into a bunch of cackling teenagers.

Bucky has more nightmares that night, and after Steve’s helped him calm down, they sit outside like they usually do. While they sit in silence and wait for the sun to rise, Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s and laces their fingers together. A little confused, Steve looks over at Bucky, but he’s not looking at him. He’s sitting with his head on Steve’s shoulder, legs tucked underneath himself.

So Steve doesn’t say anything, just squeezes back when Bucky’s hand squeezes his, and occasionally rubs his thumb over the back of his hand. After a while, the sun starts to come up, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. It reminds Steve of Brooklyn, and the way the sun used to flood through the windows and make everything warm and yellow-y.

Bucky sits up, turning to face Steve. Raising an eyebrow, Steve looks at those blue-grey eyes as they search his face. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just gives him one of those slow and easy smiles. Those kinds of smiles are the ones that make Steve’s head spin.

"Happy birthday, punk." Bucky says softly.

Steve smiles back. "Thanks. Jerk."

And then Bucky’s hands are on his face and they’re _kissing_ , after all these years and all this wanting they’re actually _kissing_. Steve’s been through two lifetimes of wanting so much and getting so little in return, and he’s almost too shocked to react. But then his eyes slip closed and his hands go to Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer and closer.

For as long as Steve’s loved Bucky, he’s imagined kissing him. He thought kissing Bucky would be hot and frantic, messy and sloppy and quick. He was very much mistaken. Kissing Bucky is slow and soft, all tongues sliding together lazily and hands running through hair and raking down backs. Kissing Bucky makes Steve feel like he can do anything. It makes him lightheaded and takes his breath away, makes his hands shake and his heart pound like a drum.

Bucky pulls back a bit, and Steve’s afraid he’s going to stop kissing him (because he might actually die if Bucky stops kissing him), but then he dives right back in, lips meeting his for another slow kiss. He pushes Steve sideways until his shoulder hits the cushion of the couch, and then Steve gets the message and lays on his back. For a moment, Steve wonders how many girls Bucky has done this with, and then scolds himself because they’re all gone and it’s not fair of him to think like that.

He can smell Bucky’s cologne and taste coffee on his lips, the coffee they’d shared after his nightmare. Bucky’s hands are everywhere; cupping his face, running through his hair, pushing their way up his t-shirt to feel the scar where he put a bullet through his back. Steve wants to tell him to forgive himself, that he knows it wasn’t really Bucky who shot him so long ago, but he can barely get air into his lungs, much less speak.

All he can do is lay there and kiss Bucky like his entire life depends on it. And for a moment, it does. It’s a lifetime spent watching Bucky go out dancing with girls and wishing it was him he was going out with, and another lifetime spent wishing he hadn’t been a coward and just told him. It’s finding out that he was alive and then almost losing him all over again, seeing his face when he looked at Steve and saw nothing at all. So Steve kisses him back as best he can, even though the only people he’s ever kissed are Peggy and Natasha, and each only once.

Bucky’s hands are warm and his lips are soft and insistent. It’s a miracle. Kissing him is a miracle.

And then a car alarm goes off nearby and they separate, Bucky looking at him with wide eyes and scrambling off his lap.

“I should, uh,” He drags the metal hand through his hair. “I should probably go get a shower.”

Steve is panting. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll… I’ll be out here.”

Bucky nods, and then he’s gone.

They don’t talk about it.

Things are good for a week or so.

And then Bucky knocks on the door of Steve’s bedroom one morning with a bag over his shoulder.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. He’s in one of Steve’s hoodies, a grey one that he considers to be one of his favorites. There’s hair in his face and a frown on his lips, those blue-grey eyes looking at Steve sadly. Steve knows what’s coming before Bucky even opens his mouth.

“I’m leaving, Stevie.” He says quietly.  

“Leaving?” Steve echoes faintly.

Bucky nods. “I have to go and do some stuff.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything.” Steve snaps, looking away. “You’re your own damn person.”

Bucky readjusts his bag. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am my own person without you, and that’s… That’s not good.”

“Buck-”

“You brought me back to normal, Steve, and I’ll always be grateful for that. Now I have to learn how to be normal on my own.” Bucky explains.

Steve’s brow furrows. “If this is about-”

“No, that’s not it.” Bucky sighs. “Just- Tony got me a place back in Brooklyn. I’ll be back in a couple of months.”

“Brooklyn?” Steve repeats.

“Mhm.” Bucky nods.

“But- HYDRA, aren’t they looking for you? It’s not safe-”

“I can take care of myself.” Bucky says softly.

Steve shakes his head. “Bucky-”

“I’ll come back, Stevie. Swear it.”

And then he’s gone, stepping out of Steve’s life like he was never there in the first place.

Except that’s not how it goes, not at all.

The first few weeks are bad. Steve sees traces of Bucky everywhere: the unmade bed in the spare room, the Sinatra records left unmoving on the record player, the books left strewn across the coffee table. He supposes it can’t be too bad for too long, because after all, Bucky’s left him before, hasn’t he? He has a full breakdown two nights after Bucky leaves. Can’t remember any of it, but he woke up to find his shield through the kitchen table and his picture frames smashed to pieces.

It’s hard teaching himself how to live without Bucky again. But at least Steve knows he’s alive, and that he’s coming back eventually. Eventually seems to take ages. He only has two more breakdowns after that first one, both times after finding something of Bucky’s around the house. After that, he’s somewhat okay. Still, he’s too shaken up to go on any missions for a few weeks.

That is, until they get word of a HYDRA base that contains Loki’s sceptor- for real this time. He’s kept busy for the next month with Tony and Banner’s crazy robot of ultimate destruction, with new members of the team that have to be trained. There’s the Vision, who still kinda scares him, but is kind and thoughtful like JARVIS and just as sarcastic as Tony. Then there’s Wanda, whose mind control and telekinesis powers make him miss the days when he was the weirdest thing science ever created. And then there’s her quick-witted brat of a brother, Pietro. He’s annoying and smug most of the time, but Clint can usually get him to focus. Steve likes him most of the time, as he’s actually very kindhearted.

On this particular day, he and Pietro are out for a run (which is very frustrating, as the little bastard _refuses_ to jog) when he gets a call from an unknown number. Steve answers it, telling Pietro to go ahead and that he’ll meet him back at the new facility.

“Hello?” Steve asks.

“Hey, Stevie.” It’s Bucky.

Steve swallows. “Jesus Christ, Buck, are you okay? Nobody’s heard from you for weeks, I-”

“I disabled the security systems in the apartment. Didn’t like feelin’ watched all the time.” Bucky explains. “I’ve been good, though.”

“Good, that’s- Good.”

“What about you, Steve? You doin’ okay? I saw you on the news a few weeks ago. Saving the world again, huh?” There’s more Brooklyn in his voice than Steve’s heard in a long time, and it makes his chest hurt.

 _I miss you. I hate how seamlessly you’ve stepped out of my life like you were never even in it. I hate how angry I am for still missing you this much after all this time. I love you_. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“I know when you’re lying.” Bucky says, and Steve can tell that he’s smiling.

“I’m okay, I really am.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I just- I miss you, Bucky. More than I wanna admit.”

“I miss you too, Steve. Miss you a lot.” Bucky sighs.

“So come home.” Steve pleads.

“You’re the one who’s not home, Steve. I fly all the way to Brooklyn and you’re not even there? Bullshit, honestly.” Steve can hear the smile in his voice.

Steve almost chokes on air. “You’re- you’re in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah. So come home.” The line goes dead.

** Epilogue **

There are still good days and bad days.

Good days occur more often than bad days, and bad days have slowed to a trickle, maybe only once a month. On those days, Steve tries his best to comfort Bucky, to let him know that he’s okay. When Bucky has nightmares, which aren’t very often, he and Steve will sit by the open window and wait for the sun to rise. Sometimes it takes minutes for Bucky to feel better, sometimes hours.

Today is a good day, Steve can tell.

He’s making pancake batter when Bucky wanders out of bed and comes into the kitchen. A pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a pair of lips press a kiss to the back of his head. Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder for a moment, and then he releases him and sits on the counter.

“Good morning.” Steve gives him a smile.

Bucky smiles back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Morning.” He stifles a yawn.

“Sleep well?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Mhm.” Bucky nods. “Like a baby.”

“Not sure that babies snore as much as you do.” Steve jokes.

“Oh, shut _up_ , you snore like a bear.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I don’t _snore_ , Bucky.” Steve drops the whisk and folds his arms over his bare chest.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I’ve known you for two lifetimes, Stevie, and you’ve perpetually snored through both of ‘em.”

Steve laughs at that, stepping aside to stand between Bucky’s legs. His hands go to Bucky’s hair, which is short again. “Have I told you I like your hair like this?”

“Only a million times.”

“Well I do. ‘s not like when you were trying to kill me, and it’s also not what you used to have. It’s different.” Steve says.

“I know.” Bucky laughs a bit.

“You-”

“Steve, are you gonna kiss me or what?” Bucky interrupts him, exasperated. “Cause I’ve been awake for like five minutes and you have yet to gimme a smooch.”

So Steve leans forward until his hips hit the counter and kisses Bucky slowly. Bucky’s legs wrap around his hips, his hands hanging loosely around his neck. Steve lets his hands fall to Bucky’s waist, and lets his lips fall to Bucky’s neck to press a few kisses to the skin. He doesn’t leave any hickies, but there’s a bit of teeth in there.

They separate after a moment, but stay close enough that their foreheads are pressed together, practically panting into each other’s mouths.

“Love you.” Steve breathes.

“Love you too.” Bucky pants. “So much.”

Steve can’t help the smile that spreads over his face.

He’s got millions of reasons to be happy, but Bucky will always be the biggest and most influential one. He’s happy because he’s safe and at home, because the symbol on Bucky’s metal shoulder is now an A for the Avengers, because after two lifetimes of wishing and wishing for Bucky he’s finally here, because of the way Bucky smiles back at him. For the first time in a while, Steve is genuinely happy.


End file.
